Lower Your Eyes
by xXxNKxXx
Summary: A slave has never served a member of the royal family. That's what the higher-ranking servants are for. So when a particularly foolish young woman spills food onto the lesser prince, at the grandest feast of Asgard, the palace is struck dumb by his subsequent request to employ her. Gods help that poor fool.
1. Chapter 1: Lower Your Eyes, Aila

Mother was tired. The work of a slave was arduous, so she was often tired, but this time was different. We didn't have the luxuries of palace servants, since they were above us in rank, and our needs were never cared for the way theirs were. So there would be no formal care for my mother's state—not even a diagnosis for whatever was ailing her these days.

We were the bottommost class of citizens. There was no cost for the servants' care in the hospital, while ours was cruelly beyond our means. They wore finely woven dresses for work, while we wore pants…our women's tunics had some overflowing fabrics, but they were hardly dresses. We needed the movement for harder work.

The princes and nobles frequently courted the servants as well, sometimes bringing them to their chambers, but rarely did any servant marry into a noble family. We, on the other hand, were disallowed from even looking upon their faces—our very existence was graced with only the basest conditions for survival.

As I watched the kitchen bustle about in preparation for the feast, my mother struggled to hide her crippling fatigue. She had fallen ill recently, and none of the healers would see her without payment—and healing was one of many forms of magic she never managed to teach me in secret. We were hardly allowed to defend ourselves from the advances of the royal guard—use of the seidr was certainly forbidden. And it was a secret I would carry to the grave.

When I matured into adulthood, she'd spent the darkest, most secret hours of the night teaching me the basest forms of magic that she'd learned as a young girl. Projections mostly, taught in the most secluded rooms of the palace—or ones that were locked up at night, and could only be opened by magic.

I never advanced past those, never managed to, before the lessons became encumbering. A few tricks had allowed me to retain my strength, which made me an excellent worker, but I was to use them sparsely—only if I were in desperate need to carry on.

"Mother?" I sauntered to her, my chest tightening at the sight of her hunched form. Evening had fallen, and it was time to start bringing out the food. Prepare our decanters to serve wine. "Let me take that," I said, reaching for the heavy tray she hovered over.

"No_," _she waved my hand away. "It's alright."

"No, it's not_,_" I insisted, placing my decanter in front of her. "You take this."

Despite our difficult life, I was not accustomed to seeing her so weak. She'd told me stories about being a woman of rank in our old world, having escaped my horror of a father when she became pregnant. He was also a renowned nobleman—though escaping him proved the lesser fortune, since she ended up captive among the enemies of Asgard.

"I'm alright, Aila—really, I am," she breathed out, though her paleness was not convincing.

"No, you're not." I shook my head. "You come find me if they give you something heavy to carry, alright?"

She said nothing at first, and then eased into a grin. "Thank you, _nochka_."

I grinned, and bent over for a quick embrace, before seeing the lead servant shoot me a glare from the corner. I dropped my gaze down to the floor, feeling my own blood drain fearfully from my cheeks, and picked up the heavy tray from my mother—leaving her my decanter instead.

One by one, the serving maids and bussing slaves gathered around the kitchen exit. We waited for a time there, while the first round of the feast had passed, and then it was our turn—to bring more food out, and more wine.

I looked over at her, panic blooming in my chest at the sight of her frailness. "Mother…"

"Lower your eyes," she whispered as we shuffled down the long hallway to the ballroom.

"They are lowered—we must sneak away, mother. You need to rest."

"No," she shook her head. "Don't even think on attempting it. They will notice the absence, and I will be worse off than I am now."

I pressed my lips together worriedly. I didn't want to look away, but the stress of being flogged or otherwise punished would only worsen her condition. My punishments were always worse for her to take than her own.

I trailed back down to the large tray in front of me, with tempting rolls and meats laden on it. Though it was easy to avert my thoughts from my growling stomach—I foolishly ate my entire ration in the morning—as we strode into the ballroom.

The cold, brisk hallway air was immediately replaced by the smell of food, with the heat of a multitude of noblemen and women crowded into the space. The king and queen were situated at the far left of the room—where I was headed—along with the princes, Thor and Loki. Mother and I went our separate ways, each of us surrounded by a flurry of beautiful fabrics, laughter, and smiling faces.

The royal table was laden with the most food, and I was to leave my platefuls before the family itself. Mostly in front of Thor—he was the one with the larger appetite.

I'd only witnessed the princes' faces a few times in my life, but I was still familiar with both their demeanors. The older one, Thor, was large, loud and boisterous—I only ever dared to glance at him a few times, but I never needed it to sense the friendliness in his tone…we may have been friends in another life, if I were ever one of the noblewomen attending these events.

The fact that such thoughts perused my mind at all was thanks to my mother.

The lesser prince, Loki, was tall and lean with a handsome face, but terribly quiet—and a master of magic, as mother had warned me. He and the queen were to be dealt with caution at all costs, for if they sensed any flares of seidr about me, my meager practices would have severe consequences.

My shoulders clenched, and nervousness rose as I strode around the back of their table. From here, it was safe to glance up at them. The Almother was speaking to the lesser prince, whose dark curls swept over his shoulders as he turned toward her. And as usual, Thor was instead conversing with the warriors three.

I was to hold the tray in one hand, and slide the food onto the table in the crevice between the princes—which proved rather strenuous, and I was glad to have taken the task from my mother. She may or may not have managed on her own.

I took one of the plates, and leaned over the lesser prince's shoulder. He whispered something in his mother's ear, she chuckled and muttered back to him, "We'll have to talk to Eirarch about—"

Her voice was suddenly stunted by the sound of a clatter and a thump in the middle of the ballroom.

In the corner of my eye, I saw my mother tumble to the ground. My breath hitched in my throat, and the plate dropped from my hands. My eyes fell with panic, and the Prince recoiled from the sudden mess, shifting in his chair as his eyes jolted up to me. Shock gripped my chest as my eyes flitted up to his, with a terrified gasp, and fear shot through me at the ire in his emerald gaze.

"_How dare you?_" he growled, and I stumbled back fearfully.

My limbs trembled. Flashes of a bloody whip, and incorrigible pain flared before my eyes, but tears had filled them as I swept toward sight of my mother laying on the ground.

"_Mother,_" I whimpered, and gathered just enough strength to bolt around the table, to her side. I fell to my knees beside her, tears streaming down my cheeks as I felt the heat subsiding from her body. "Gods, no—_no!_ _Help me, please!_" I cried out to the others, no longer caring what punishment awaited me for looking at their faces.

All around me, finely clothed nobles stood stock-still and peered down at us. No one moved.

_"__Please!"_ I screamed, and only a few of their faces contorted. They glanced between themselves with looks of disgusted shock at my outburst.

Only the Almother's brows creased with pain and worry, and she rose slightly from her chair as she regarded us. Odin grasped her forearm calmly, and she shot him a look of disdain. Beside her, the lesser prince merely stared annoyedly, before looking back down at the servant who had come to clean the mess.

A figure appeared before them in front of me, crouched before my mother. "Aila," Davos muttered darkly, as he tucked his arms beneath my mother. "Lower your eyes."

I looked down at my friend—my one-time lover—and tears fell at the earnestness in his expression. Slowly, I dragged my gaze back down at the ground. He rose slowly with my mother in his arms, and made for the exit—with me in tow.

Once we were past the doors, I couldn't contain myself any longer. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I followed him to the slaves' quarters.

* * *

_Eye-la. _

That was the slave girl's name, Loki had learned later that evening. Frigga had requested to know the state of the girl's mother—who had evidently passed sometime during the latter half of the feast.

"That poor girl," the Almother muttered, glowering at Odin slightly. "You should have let me help her."

"You help one, and the rest will begin to harbor ideas about our generosity," the Alfather mused coldly, taking a sip from his chalice.

"_I doubt it would have gone that far._"

Loki arched a brow at his mother's sharpness. He had long since finished his food, and was also nursing his wine, keenly listening to the conversations that went on around him. Thor and his Idiots Three had fallen back to the subject of their latest weapons requisition, while Frigga argued with Odin—a slightly more interesting conversation.

Political at least, in its nature.

"If I had not seen it before, I would not ask this of you now."

Frigga huffed. "When have you _ever_ endeavored to treat them kindly, Odin?"

His mother, the caring woman that she was, had always advocated for the betterment of care of their lesser residents. Though when one retort followed another at length, Loki had begun to grow bored with even _that_ conversation.

"More wine, Prince Loki?" A voice appeared in front of him, and Loki looked up at the servant girl who had been traipsing along their table—the same one who had rushed to his side, to clean the mess that the slave had left behind.

Despite her shy glances over the past few months, Loki had never cared to learn her name. Even now, he stared coldly at the woman—while she gave him a longer, kinder stare. As though she were accustomed to his demeanor.

"Please," he answered politely, and her cheeks flushed slightly as he held out his chalice. From where he sat, Loki could see her chest heaving with apprehension.

"Thank you," he muttered, and she pressed her lips together with a grin.

Thor had had so many noblewomen and servants—Loki's own appetite for such carnal affections was sparse over the long years. It was deemed inappropriate for all intents and purposes, and no one was to speak of it or display it outwardly. The royal family was still to be feared and respected. Gossip would not be tolerated by any servant especially, of any rank.

Later in the night, Loki decided he would find her again, and approach with some semblance of a conversation. The woman was tall, lean—fully matured in all ways that a woman could be. Her cheeks bloomed red when first approached her, though Loki's interest had only peaked at the prospect of a distraction from the otherwise dull night—which had followed a dull week of celebrations and drinking preceding the winter solstice.

There were no prospects for a queen in Loki's near future, nor that of physical companionship among the abhorrently poor conversationalists. He saw no trouble in relinquishing their attentions for that of the servant woman that night.

It was always tiring to entertain prospective companions, and it had been some time since Loki's last encounter. Though this one was quiet, reserved—there would be no issues with gossip, that much he was certain of. And things went by as quickly as he'd anticipated, just as they always had. It grew late before he'd even realized, and deep into the evening, Loki laid atop his sheets, staring into the fireplace as the servant girl gathered her clothes.

"My prince?" he heard her mutter, and his eyes flitted in her direction.

Now fully clothed, her dark hair was tousled—the only remnants of their evening together. She curtsied to him, grinning happily, as though it were an honor to curtsy to him in such personal circumstances.

Loki stood from the bed, and in a flash of green, he was robed. He sauntered toward the door along with her, and took her hand. Offering the warmest grin that he could muster, Loki pressed his lips to her knuckles. "I thank you for your company tonight."

"Of course," she breathed out, her bright smile only growing at his touch.

Loki nodded, and opened the door for her, stepping out slightly to allow her to pass. The corridor was dark… dark, but not completely silent, as he realized instantly.

The quiet sound of pattering feet and muffled sobbing had barely reached his ears.

"Good night, _Loki,_" the servant girl whispered as she stepped past him. Loki's grin abated slightly—the informality was an infraction, regardless of what transpired between them.

He watched for a moment as she sauntered down the hallway. Light poured onto him from the fireplace, and a second figure suddenly appeared in the dark.

Loki made out the features instantly—it was the slave girl from the feast, and her eyes were glinting with wetness in the pale moonlight. Her light, brown waves were a mess about her shoulders, and her tense movements nearly skidded to a stop. Her eyes flickered up, accidentally meeting the gaze of the servant girl and Loki.

The servant frowned, and the look on her face was sharp as she eyed the slave continuing her stride—sharp with disbelief. "Keep your eyes down, girl," she commanded the girl coldly.

Loki's attention averted to the young woman. She stared pointedly at the ground as she walked by him, covering her mouth with her wrist. Her shoulders pulled inward fearfully as she drew near him, though her features continued to be twisted with pain. Her brows were furrowed, damp with sweat, and her lips shuddered against her skin, against… against a film of seidr.

If Loki blinked, he would have missed it. The hint of seidr, draining from the slave girl's lips. It was faint—likely fading, so as to keep him from sensing it altogether. When he realized that the servant was still standing in the corner of his eye, he turned back toward her annoyedly.

"_Sleep well,_" he said sharply—intently—and tension flickered in her brow.

She bowed her head confusedly, and turned slowly to disappear around the corner. When Loki looked back, he also saw that the slave girl—Aila, was it?—had gone down the stairwell at the far side of the hall.

Magic hummed in his veins as he closed the door behind him silently, masking his footsteps as he trailed down the hallway. Stopping at the archway that led into the stairwell, he tuned his hearing to the sounds of the palace…everything was still. Wherever she had disappeared to, the woman had done so quickly.

Loki stood a moment more, listening to nothing, and then sighed.

However the girl learned her menial trick—likely through natural talent—her use of the seidr was a crime. A serious crime. He had merely to accuse her of it, and she would be reprimanded. Punished severely, if not executed.

Which may or may not have been a gift, considering the girl's circumstances. To lose one's mother, and continue on living as a slave, alone in a punishing world? Loki would never traverse the lower dungeons of the palace where the slaves slept, but that did not mean that he was blind to their condition. None in the palace were.

* * *

**w00t. Got this story started. So if you guys are here from my God and the Siren series, thank you so much for checking this story out! It's going to be a pretty relaxed, easy going story. Tons of palace intrigue, mostly light hearted stuff. Obviously there's going to be a plot and an endgame, but I'm aiming for this to be an easy, enjoyable, slightly angsty slowburn read. I'm DYING to write this thing.**

**Please, please do also share your thoughts with me along the way, and hear me out on why - for those of you who've read my AN's from my other stories, you know that I work full time and am also trying to publish my own novel, and I also work as a book editor. I was dying to write this story since I came up with it, but all of this is a lot on my plate. I can update as regularly as every week (some of you know this already), but if a story doesn't get a lot of traffic, there's not really a reason for me to not take my time with it, considering how much I've got going on. **

**Of course that's not an ultimatum on whether you get reading material, I hate it when writers do that. I write first and foremost for myself and will always finish my projects, but I want you guys to understand where I'm coming from too with pacing. I need to pace myself and prioritize. If people are going cray cray for the next chapter, I will go cray cray to prioritize it. **

**That's all for now. Til next time, lovelies!**


	2. Chapter 2: Are you worthy?

"Prince Loki…_what?" _I stuttered, hardly believing the words that came out of the head servant's mouth.

"He has requested to employ you."

I stared agape at the old woman—Ingaveld—eyes puffy and red from being up all night in tears. Several servants around the kitchen had also begun to whisper, likely on the subject of a slave being employed by a member of the royal family—a thing simply unheard of.

Behind Ingaveld, Astrid shot me an icy, disbelieving glare as she strode near us—true enough, if anyone was to be requested, I would think that the servant he'd spent the night with would be the one. The follow day, at that. In a matter of seconds, her face both blanched and reddened angrily again, and she turned away from us.

Meanwhile, my heart pounded frightfully against my chest…I had never heard that the lesser prince was cruel, but there had never been a slave—a female slave—set to work for him. I would be the first, and the thought alone of being one of the princes' chosen maidens was sickening.

"You will report to him now," Ingaveld gestured to the floor brush I'd been holding in my hands. "Leave that here, and go to his chambers now."

I blinked up at her. "Now?" I shook my head. "I—I never learned to serve the royal family…" Mother had never taught me—this would have thrown her into a panic.

Tears pooled in my eyes at the reminder. Less than a day since she had passed, since I had dropped food over Prince Loki—and now this? What could he possibly want with me, after what had happened? To torment me for spilling food on him? Surely the lashes to my right forearm were enough, though even those were meant to be merciful—considering the _unfavorable _circumstances of my mistake.

Ingaveld perched her hands on her hips, and sneered cruelly. "What you have and have not learned, is none of my concern. You will learn on the job—if he does not kill you first—now _go." _

My fingers trembled against the brush, and anxiety swam in my chest as I set it down, rising to go and gather whatever I might need. A broom, maybe? A rag, to dust his things? What did he even have in there, that might require attention? Upon reaching the supply closet, I simply grabbed whatever cleaning tools I could carry. So much of my strength had already depleted, keeping the fear at bay as I sauntered through the palace halls was doubly encumbering.

The cool breeze was sweet, at least. It was fresh against my skin, and I was grateful for the relative silence that I traversed the palace in. Loki's chamber was near the throne room, and his wooden door towered high above my head.

I stood in front of it for a moment, wiping the remnants of wetness off my cheeks. On the other side of this wooden door, was the Prince—and who knows what else. I hadn't even looked into in the room when I'd passed by it last night. And now I was raising a hand to the wooden engravings, and knocking against the dense material.

The door opened of its own accord, and I pulled back my hand for a moment. _Lower your eyes,_ I reminded myself, and threw my gaze down sharply when I looked inside. The room itself was the base of a tower, and half the cylindrical structure was a window of its own. Light poured over every inch of the space—on the large bed in the center of the room, the fireplace whose embers had doused, the book shelf beside it, and the Prince's desk at the base of the towering window.

And there he sat, leg crossed under the table as he scratched away at a piece of parchment, consulting the tome beside it intermittently. In the vastness of the space, my footsteps were nearly silent against the cobbled floor. I felt…small. Insignificant against the stature of a royal prince, who had yet to acknowledge me since I strode in.

I jumped at the sudden creak behind me, and turned to see the door closing on its own. My eyes trailed over the view just out the window—mountains, as far as the eye could see. The towering, snow-capped peaks of Asgard. At the other far end of the room, a smaller archway led into the restroom. Everything was opulent—nothing like the abhorrent catacombs the slaves had slept in.

I stood awkwardly as I swept my eyes to him, fumbling with the rag in my fingers. He was the only other living creature in this room, and he continued scratching at the parchment without a care. For some time, I merely stood and observed his broad backside as he worked—occasionally catching his profile turning toward the writing, and away from it.

_Lower your eyes._

I dropped them down to the ground, and began to look around the space for something to do. Something to clean. The bed was made, all the books were stacked… I sauntered toward the restroom slowly—as though being quiet might lessen his awareness of my presence—all was pristine in there as well. As though a servant had only just come by to clean it.

I pulled the rag from my belt as I turned back toward the bedroom—squinting at the brightness of the window pouring over me. I lifted it up as I walked toward the fireplace, and ran it over the mantle.

Books suddenly fell from the dresser near the bathroom, startling me. I tensed as my eyes darted toward Loki, and relaxed again when he remained unmoving. Had I knocked them over? No matter—I rushed over to pick them up again, glancing across the bed at the silent prince. Still busy with his work, as though I weren't there.

Only then did I notice the clothes draped over the side of the mattress.

I furrowed a brow as I rose—having sworn that the room was in order when I walked in. I sauntered toward them slowly, and began to pick them up. Heavy as they were, it was a struggle to hold them up high enough to fold. I glanced at Loki, noting the strength he must have int hat lean body, to move so gracefully in such heavy clothes. Naturally, I could have used the seidr—poorly—to help me lift it the slightest bit, but that would have been enacting a death wish.

I was nearly finished with that task, when the books fell behind me again. This time, there seemed to be more of them than before. And again, I was baffled by the extent of my absentmindedness—I must have been truly exhausted to have missed that many books.

Once that was finished, I turned back to the rag I'd left on the mantle. My hide boots scraped against the hearth as I approached it, and looked down to notice that soot had strewn from the fireplace a bit.

It had gone quite far, and I wondered if I had kicked it out myself accidentally.

I looked down at my belt with a frown—there was no broom for me to have taken with me, so all I had were my hands. Once more, I could have used the seidr—as I had done many times before—but this was neither the time, nor the place. It never would be. Not with the ever watchful eyes and senses of the masterful practitioner seated just across the room behind me.

The hearth was rough against my hands, but they were well callused from years of hard work. Hard work that I had shared with my mother…

I swallowed thickly, blinking twice to stifle the tears the rose.

"_My breakfast_." A deep voice swept across the room.

My head snapped up toward him. Loki remained at his desk, and his words intensified the nervousness he'd already been imposing. Over time, it would likely subside, but for now, it flared with an unbridled force at the realization that I came here empty handed. No one told me that I was to bring his breakfast…

I stood, keeping my eyes on the ground as I stuttered, "F—forgive me, my Prince, I'll go fetch it for you now."

"_No,_" he murmured as I made the first step toward the door. "Come here."

My eyes widened, and I tightened the rag between my fingers as I forced one foot in front of the other, until I was standing far off the side of the desk.

"Closer," Loki murmured smoothly, his neutral eyes still glued to the tome.

As I drew near, he finally stopped, and shifted toward me in his seat. I kept my eyes down as his knees pivoted into my line of sight. I trailed over the detailing of his green, leather apparel, the fine craft of his boots… And I could feel Loki's eyes on me above—studying me, observing me. I was bare under his scrutinizing gaze. No doubt he could use his power to peer into my very soul.

I merely stood there for a time, and when the Prince said nothing, I murmured, "You don't want me to bring you breakfast?"

"You will learn what I want from you in time," he muttered smoothly, his words inciting a frail shudder.

I gave a perfunctory nod. "Yes, my lord."

Loki suddenly stood, his legs straightening to their long length. I stumbled back as he stepped forward, towering over me by at least a head. I'd never stood this close to the lesser prince before, and all the times that I'd secretly admired his handsome features were diminished by the unbridled terror of his royal stature. Our mutual knowledge of his unchallenged mastery of the broad arcane arts...

Color tinged my cheeks, as I began to feel severely unpolished before him. As a person, as a woman, a magician...a comparably uneducated novice.

A slave, through and through.

The first to ever set foot in a royal chamber.

A fragrant breeze blew over me as he strode by, smelling of citrus and fresh rain. "Follow."

* * *

The slave girl trailed after Loki as he sauntered through the palace. Out in one of the courtyards, a small multitude of tables had been set for the following day's festivities. The golden spires of the palace towered over them all, casting pleasant shadows over the courtyards.

Music had been playing somewhere far off, but it was too faint for any of them to hear. Loki felt the woman's presence teetering after him, like a small shadow in the wake of an ambient day, and stopped sharply when he neared his table. After keeping pace with his long steps, she nearly collided into him—and the look of momentary terror on her features, with the sudden color in her cheeks, tempted his amusement.

Loki paused a moment to observe her—ungroomed, but womanly. Fear did little to compliment what could be a pleasant demeanor. She stared at his chest, swallowing thickly and subduing the heaving apprehension in her every breath. Was he really that intimidating? No one else seemed to think so.

His eyes flickered down to her chest momentarily, at the rise and fall of her breast beneath the tunic. How amusing it would be to say nothing at all, and see if she followed him to the table…

Without another word, Loki turned and walked toward the group of noblemen he'd long become acquainted with—worshipers of Odin's rule, still, but at least they were marginally less inclined to join on the boisterous activities of the week.

"Prince Loki!" Ardrich—one of the lesser magicians—greeted him. "How good of you to join us."

"Good indeed," Loki grinned flatly as he sat down beside him, glancing at Aila, still standing where he'd left her. Smart girl.

"Ever the perky one, aren't you?" Another—Lariana—murmured across the table, offering him a cunning smile as she glanced to the side. "And this charming young…_thing _you've brought with you—who is she?"

Tension rippled in Aila's angular jaw, but her expression remained icy—dead. Before answering, Loki offered a bemused, diplomatic grin to Lariana, and lifted his empty glass up to his shoulder.

"My new serving woman." His eyes were fixed on Aila's slitted stare, on the innate thoughtfulness with which she peered at the ground. "_Aila._"

Her name was a command, and Loki lifted his chin as he waited for the spark of realization. True enough, it took her a moment to realize that he'd actually called her over.

Her eyes flitted about for a moment, until she spotted what was needed—a decanter of wine. Moments later, she appeared with it at his side, and the wine glass grew heavy as she carefully poured the contents into it.

Lariana narrowed her eyes, and spoke mirthfully, "Well I know it's been some time since we were here, but weren't slaves reserved for the lesser work around the castle?" she eyed the girl. "Such skulking, worthless creatures—just _look_ at her."

The girl's hands tensed as she stepped back. A strange marker—slaves should be accustomed to being spoken to thusly.

Loki smiled wryly. "A _skulking_ creature," he mused darkly, his voice dripping with all the finely tuned manners of a diplomat, entertaining some important guests on an important day. "A bitter depiction, one might say."

Lariana arched a brow to her friend, the Prince. "Truest to her likeness."

Loki glanced at her over his shoulder. Aila stepped back slightly, her lovely, fearful features frozen in a downward gaze. It would have been easier to mask her hurt with seidr—yet another form of it that she either did not know, or did not dare to risk.

"Do you think yourself worthless?" Loki muttered to her amusedly, and the table fell silent. Aila pressed her lips together, and remained steadfast in her downward stare. "Look at me when I speak to you," he ordered.

Now the table had _really_ gone quiet—all waiting to see whether the woman would answer. There was the greatest reluctance in her expression, and he could practically see the indecision flitting in her eyes. Trying to discern if she would survive his command—though naturally, none would harm her in his presence. What happened afterward was not his concern. Some semblance of a sharp breath twinged in her chest, and Loki narrowed his gaze as her eyes shot up to his. The rest of her remained taut.

As Loki suspected, for a brief moment, she looked as though she'd forgotten she were a slave—another useful bit of information. Something to reveal her character, the confidence that a practitioner of seidr should display. Something that was _taught,_ not learned...so who had taught her?

Technically, this act alone was a crime for which any other master would punish her severely. Even if he _had_ invited it. Much in the same way that a slave would be punished for accepting an Asgardian's courtship.

Aila nodded her chin—answering the question correctly.

A sly grin threatened the corner of Loki's mouth, and he held her eyes for a moment. A twinge of amusement bloomed at the faintest color that touched her cheeks, and she was the first to look away.

Loki turned back toward the table—scheming inwardly.

* * *

**Thank you for the support I've already gotten. :) Thankies for the support I'm already getting. I had some time to write this today, so here ya go. Hope we're off to a good start.**


	3. Chapter 3: I See You

Nearly a week had gone by since I began working for the Prince. Bit by bit, I'd begun turning to autopilot, since he himself hardly acknowledged me most of the time. I became accustomed to his neutral presence—ever writing, ever reading. Always at his desk. He was just another figure in the room, along with all the furniture. Though despite the calmness of the environment, I continued to struggle inwardly. Nothing having to do with him, of course—all to do with my mother's passing…onward was the long, arduous journey of grieving her death.

It was evening time on the seventh day, and I finally had a bit more lightness to my step as I carried the Prince's dinner to his room. The guards had become accustomed to seeing me, as I usually traversed these hollow halls alone. Holding the tray, I slowly entered the Prince's chamber after an unanswered knock. Everything was dark, save for the light of the fireplace, and brightness poured out from the bathroom in an arch shape.

The Prince was showering, and the intensity of the water pressure was palpable—I could hear his movements interrupting the spritzing current. It was easy to shrug off. Tonight, all I needed to do was avoid the archway, set up his dinner on the table, and be on my way.

Tonight of all nights, the moments couldn't go by any quicker… Tonight was the night that Davos had promised he would attempt to retrieve a particular item of my mother's, which was taken the night she died—a music box she kept in secret. I'd been looking forward to it for days.

I'd grown up listening to it. I knew the tune by heart, and mother even taught me a few, sweet lyrics to match for my entertainment. They were affectionate words, and comforted me whenever I felt alone. Naturally, we could only listen to it in secret, on the nights that we'd snuck into the guarded chambers of the palace. Most notably the throne room—the one place in the palace that needed no guards, because it was so heavily protected by magic. Magic that my mother was able to undo at the doors, and soon taught me to do the same.

The glittering image of the little device danced before my eyes. In a pulse of joy, I hummed the first few notes, while busying myself with re-folding the napkin that had come apart. The shower movements suddenly paused—and so did my own, when I realized what had happened. I glanced toward the glowing archway, and slowly resumed folding the napkin without a sound. The movements continued shortly after as well.

Still, it didn't deter me. Though if anyone knew that mother possessed such a thing, she would have crawled from the dungeons with deep gashes along her back and front… The same fate would befall me if I wasn't careful.

The only worry now was that they might have taken it to the treasury—it had some gold, yes, but it was so small and insignificant. It couldn't possibly add to the treasures of Asgard.

I arranged the utensils and plate, and uncorked the ceramic wine jug, carefully pouring it into one of the fine goblets. The savoriness of the poultry, vegetables and steaming biscuit hardly fazed me, despite having finished my rations for the day. Slowly but surely, I returned to autopilot—my mind was so far elsewhere, anxiously buzzing to have the little metal box back in my hands.

The water had turned off without my noticing, and only the shadow of the Prince sauntering into the bedroom had made me realize it. I glanced in his direction instinctively, remembering to cast my eyes back down before he caught me looking. He was clothed—thankfully—in a long, dark robe that trailed to the ground behind him a bit, leaving only his chest a bit bare. Pants kicked out as he strode toward the table, his dark, wet hair sticking to his neck and sides of his face.

Self-consciousness sparked through me when he got close. Standing tall and lean before me, invisible steam and heat seemed to plume from his body, and he smelled so _good_…like an array of fragrant spices. Which could only make him—along with every other man—so much more attractive. As though _my_ Prince needed the help, of all the men out there.

Slaves were allowed to shower—thank the Norns—but we were never given such sweet smelling substances to wash ourselves with.

I stepped away, watching him in the corners of my eyes. He was tying his robe with a sash as he stepped up to the table, and looked over his food. And when he pulled the chair out without a word, I shuffled away—returning to autopilot. Just a few more chores, and I'd be done for the day…

* * *

Loki heard the humming instantly. It was brief, but her voice was decidedly sweet. Perhaps it was another manifestation of her seidr, and he was too far to sense its subtleties. He'd tried for a number of days to tempt it from her, but had grown bored with it after some time.

As he usually did—women seldom held his attention, in any capacity.

He might've even regretted employing her, had she not done such an excellent job in his service. His food was always hot, clothes folded, room scrubbed clean. She was either competent, or eager to please—or fearful, judging by their initial interactions.

Still, she sauntered more freely about his chamber in a matter of days, though her demeanor remained meek and humble. They had slowly fallen into a routine—every day, Loki woke, knowing that he'd soon hear the sound of her gentle patting on the door. That he'd smell the breakfast she'd brought him. In the mornings and afternoons, she'd trail after him throughout the palace—either caring for his armor and equipment, or carrying books back to their place in the library. In the evenings, she completed her chores.

Palace life was so dull… And the slave had otherwise proved to be just as dull—though her presence did, at least, provide some semblance of a distraction. At least she was pleasant to look at—for all intents and purposes, she was a beautiful woman. Despite her thinness, it certainly wasn't an eyesore to notice the sway of her hips as she walked by—which were much more easily seen through her half-skirt apparel—nor the other ample parts of her figure.

Loki was a man, after all. Why not enjoy these pleasures in their barest form?

He would never pursue it further, of course. Save for demeaning himself by laying with a slave, it would mean death for the girl—and she was far too wonderful a servant to sacrifice. Even if it would reunite her with her mother.

On the seventh night, she was folding his clothes while Loki sat at the table, enjoying his dinner. An impulse tugged at him, and he slid his gaze toward Aila at the foot of his bed, scraping his eyes over her backside. So beautifully formed, yet so thin… Too thin. Could she continue on with her duties for long, in such a state? Perhaps he ought to offer her some of his food one of these days—

"My Prince," she murmured smoothly as she began to turn. Without a care, Loki looked back down at his food. "Is there anything else you require of me tonight?"

"No," he answered briskly. "You may go."

In the corner of his eye, he saw her curtsy as he took another bite, and make a quick beeline toward the door. Odd. Loki looked over his shoulder as the door opened, furrowing a brow when another figure moved about in the dark, just outside his room. The fork slid from his lips, and his attention narrowed—tuning in to the conversation just outside his door.

"_Not here…" _Aila whispered. "_Down the hall—move." _

"_Aila," _a second, male voice answered as she clearly shoved him excitedly. "_Aila, I couldn't find it." _

The shuffling in the hallway stopped. _"…What?" _her voice lilted painfully, a bit more loudly this time. "_What happened?" _

"_I couldn't find it… they must have taken it to the treasury. I'm sorry, Aila… I'm so sorry." _

Silence fell into the space.

Aila let out a shaker breath. "_Okay," _her voice trembled—she struggled to control it._ "Thank you for trying, Davos." _

"_Maybe I can… find you something else," _the male voice insisted. "_I can smuggle in another one." _

Another what? Loki narrowed his eyes, now facing the door entirely in his chair—staring at the wood, as though he could peer beyond it.

"_No, it's not worth it… don't risk something like that, they'll have you killed." _

_"__It's worth it to me…" _the voice trailed off.

Another, longer bout of silence ensued. Lasting quite a bit longer than Loki might anticipate—what was happening outside the door?

"_Let's go," _the male voice appeared again, speaking softly. "_It's late, we should get some rest. You can stay with me if you like."_

"_I—Not yet," _Aila answered. "_I have a few more things to do for the Prince, then I'll be down there myself."_

Loki arched a brow. A lewd retort danced mischievously across his thoughts, but he waved it away in an instant.

"_Do you want me to wait for you?"_

"_No, no—go without me, I'll be a while."_

_"…__.Alright, Aila. Whatever you want." _

Another momentary silence. Aila's feet shuffled back against the floors, less energetically this time, and stopped at his door. The male's feet disappeared around the corner, and Loki waited for a moment—staring where he knew she stood. One moment passed, two… And her feet picked up, carrying her elsewhere.

Was she finally doing something interesting? Perhaps this was the night? Loki rose to his feet, leaving his dinner behind as he masked his footsteps—quickly passing through his door, and following her in the direction he'd heard her go in.

Loki was keener this time, more careful and attentive. After a few moments of searching, he was pleased to have not lost her this time, having caught sight of her within moments—striding briskly down one of the halls.

His wet hair began to dry at the pace he was walking in, though he kept close to the pillars, his robe billowing slightly behind him. Whatever guards they passed remained silent. No one would dare question what a Prince of Asgard was doing—even if he were lurking after a woman.

A _slave._

The god moved swiftly across the floors, trailing after her quietly. They'd turned several corners and descended a few stairs, with the occasional rays of moonlight bathing them in a pale glow, breaking the darkness occasionally. All the while, Loki studied her pleasant backside keenly—where on _earth _was this woman leading him?

Loki furrowed a brow when he realized the destination—she was headed toward the throne room. There were no guards on this level. There was no need for them, since there was magic guarding all doorways to the massive room. Loki strode behind a pillar as she sauntered toward one such entrance, and watched her quietly as she raised a hand up to the locks—which kept all the side doors sealed. She seemed to struggle for a moment, and sighed when the locks finally came loose.

Loki's demeanor hardened. Whatever her intentions, this was still a serious crime… A very, _very_ serious crime. If her fingers touched even a bit of the gold inside, Loki would reprimand her immediately.

He followed slowly after she disappeared behind the door, resealing it behind her. Naturally, Loki opened it much more skillfully—much more quietly—than she did. And he didn't see her at first when he paced into the massive space, which was dark. Nearly pitch black, in fact, save for the moonlight streaming in from the tall window above the throne. All the gold was gleaming, and the slave was an insignificant shadow sifting about in the dark.

So was Loki. A tall, menacing predator in the dark.

He pinpointed her in the center of the hall, and quietly shifted toward one of the large pillars—where he had a clearer view of her under the moonlight. All the torches had been doused, and for a time, she merely…stood there. Stood and stared out the window, it seemed, until she looked down at her hands. By the way the shadows contorted across her features, Loki could see that she was crying.

Well, she certainly chose an interesting place to cry…

With a flick of her wrist, Loki narrowed his eyes. Faint sparks of gold jumped from her fingers as she did it again. Aila sighed frustratedly, and then began waving her hand in a fluid motion. She closed her eyes, straightening to a tall height—taller than Loki had ever seen her stand before. Prouder. With her shoulders rolled back, and chin held high for a person of her station.

Aila's face remained taut—painfully determined, even—and soon enough, the gold sparks began to emanate again, following the trail of her movements. Loki grinned contentedly at having finally seen the color of her seidr—or having seen her use it at all… So that first night was _not_ an involuntary accident.

How _interesting. _

Even when she cried, she did so standing upright. And again, Loki wondered who had taught her this—

_Mother. _

_Her mother._

Of course. Who else would dare to furnish her with such ideas—a slave, ever standing at the height of a lady? Carrying herself as a noble? The only curiosity now, was her mother's origin. Though this information could come in time, with trust and manipulation.

His fascination with the sight of her seidr was soon interrupted by the faint sound of music. A sweet, simple tune, which grew with a faint, echoing chorus as the moments passed—as Aila began to step in a broad circle before the throne. Her eyes had begun to relax, as though she'd gotten her handle on the seidr, and she pivoted. Her shadow danced under the moonlight.

The swaths of gold remained when she lowered her hands down to her hips, though the beautiful music suddenly intensified when she threw them up again before her. A golden, wafting figure suddenly appeared in the shape of a man, catching her arm on his shoulder, and taking her hand as he swept her to the side.

Loki's eyes widened at the sight of her phantom dance partner—this slave was _exceptionally_ gifted in projections, it seemed. And though the movements must have been rehearsed, there was still a freedom about them—seemingly made easier by the pants she wore, instead of the heavy skirts worn by true women of the court.

He was transfixed. Utterly transfixed, and his eyes jumped from the woman, to her partner. To her light brown locks bouncing beautifully, to the the golden glow of her partner—his composition shone in dwindling patches and intermittent rays around the room, cutting through the dull moonlight streaming in.

It was a sight to behold, and Loki found himself speechless.

When she drew nearer to the column he stood behind, an impulse pulled him further into the shadows—as though _he _had something to fear in being discovered…

And try as he might, Loki could not make out the features of the man. Despite the way she appeared to lean her arm on his shoulder, to hold his hand, the figure shifted in all the sparks that he was made of. He was not a solid form…or was he? Loki could only make out the faint outlines of a tunic, and his obvious, considerable height. Nothing else was easy to see—particularly not the features of his face.

Aila appeared relaxed at first, despite the purposeful strides around the room, but grew more determined as the figure began to flicker. It was then that she began to struggle, that the frustration began to show in her face. She stared steadfast into what should have been his eyes, and pretty soon, she began to falter.

It finally disappeared mid movement, as she let out a sob. One moment she was standing, and the next, she fell to the ground near the throne's staircase.

The golden lights had disappeared, and the two of them were back in the pitch-black darkness. Loki pursed his lips, remaining quiet as he watched her crumble to a writhing ball of weeping flesh. A broken woman, alone in the world.

She sobbed and sobbed, but Loki could only feel fascination—pure, unbridled fascination with what he had just seen. She seemed so plain when she came to him every day. Just another servant—another slave—going about her day.

He arched a brow as she speared her fingers aggressively through her hair, and then jerked them downward in an agonizing cry, while lurching up into a seated position. Loki nearly flinched when he watched her right wrist collide with the corner of the bottom step. Aila bent over in a fit of pain, stifling her cry with a bitten lip. Even from there, Loki could see that it began to bleed, and had decided that… yes, this was enough. Let her grieve in peace. There was nothing more to see here.

Eyes fixed on the crying slave, he straightened to his full height, and stepped back into the darkness—closer to the door. Tomorrow, she would see him.

He'd seen her—for the first time, it seemed—tonight.

And what an interesting specimen she was.

* * *

Fucking devastated.

That's how I felt for the entirety of the night, after Davos had told me he couldn't find the music box. Even his lips did nothing to assuage the pain…not that they ever had that effect before, but they couldn't distract me, either. Not from this.

There was no knowing whether the Prince would notice my eyes' puffiness this morning. I had barely slept all night, but that didn't stop me from traversing the halls on time, carrying Loki's breakfast with one hand only—and minimal support from the other. I'd hit my wrist so hard against the stairs in a fit of rage, it continued to hurt without movement. Anything more than that was agonizing.

I knocked first, and at the lack of protest, I entered the room—wincing when my wrist accidentally caught against the door. I first glanced toward the desk, and furrowed a brow slightly when he wasn't there. It only took a second to otherwise notice that he was still in his bed.

A book in his hands, the Prince's smooth chest was bare as he sat up against the bedpost, reading. A white sheet covered the rest of his stripped body, and the blanket was strewn across his legs. My eyes dropped down to the ground immediately, widening a bit as his form burned into my mind. My jaw tensed, and color flushed to my cheeks as I set the new tray down on the table—the old one must have been picked up outside the door, when he set it there.

I was mildly startled when the Prince suddenly mused smoothly, "What happened to your hand?"

"Sorry?" I swept my gaze to the ground beside his bed.

"Your hand," he repeated, turning the page of his book. "What happened to it?"

I looked down at my bandaged wrist.

"I…fell," I murmured, and turned back to set up his breakfast.

He answered without hesitation, "And your lip?"

I paused, furrowing a brow confusedly. "I—I bit it when I fell."

"…how unfortunate."

The cut on my lip stung a little as I pressed my lips together, wondering why he wondered about my health at all. I ran my tongue over it as I continued setting up his breakfast, and turned back to start the day off. It'd begin by laying out his daggers and armor—which I polished every morning that he planned to go out to the training ring. The stand beside his bed is where he kept it, and I made a beeline for it from the table.

Suddenly, the Prince raised his arm up casually, stopping me when I got close. I paused mid-step, staring at the toned limb hanging relaxedly in the air.

"Um… My Prince?"

"Give it here."

My brows creased. "G—Give you what?"

"Your hand."

I shifted away from him instinctively, suddenly feeling the remnants of the week's earlier fears seeping in again. Seven days had passed, and in all that time, the Prince hadn't said a single excess word to me—barely acknowledging that I existed. Why did he suddenly care about my hand?

He swiveled his fingers indicatively—as though he were growing impatient. When I lifted my left hand reluctantly, he clicked his tongue and flipped another page. "Now why would I want that one?"

He kept his gaze fixed on the pages. It allowed me to glance up at him a bit. I pulled it back, offering my right one instead, and slated it over his suspended hand. My breath nearly hitched as his fingers brushed the underside of my palm, pulling back to grasp my bare fingers.

My eyes jumped between our point of contact, and his face—hands, face, hands, face. A Prince of Asgard was _touching_ me…and my cheeks responded accordingly.

A plume of heat slowly emanated from his hand, while he licked his other finger to turn the page again, looking perfectly bored—as though nothing were happening at all. Though on my end, the feeling was so soft, so pleasant as it concentrated around my wrist…with seemingly no intention to stop. The warmth spread through the rest of my hand, into my chest, and up to my lip—healing that, too.

It was so warm, so powerful… As though he'd burrowed into me, and existed within my body in that moment.

_Loki's_ seidr. Everything I might've imagined it would be… My mother had told me once upon a time, that to share one's seidr with another was an act of closeness. Even if the giving party refused to look the receiving one in the eye.

Though that hardly made sense to me now—not only was I a slave, unworthy in his eyes of such affection—he was healing me. So it couldn't be as mother said—the healers couldn't possibly do this to every single patient. It would be… inappropriate. To make their faces the way that mine was now. Or perhaps the patients had grown accustomed to the care, and no longer experienced it so… _intimately_.

I felt the color reach my cheeks, and accidentally sighed a bit louder than I intended—though the Prince didn't seem to notice. I couldn't help but stare at him now. At his regal face, his jade eyes darting neutrally over the lines of his book, the handsome contrasting of his hair and complexion… I was staring unabashedly, and could not look away—and was nearly tempted to grasp his fingers with my own. The pain had slowly faded, and the warmth disappeared as he pulled back his hand.

Only then did I blink, with reality flushing through me, reminding me to look away. I clenched my hand into a fist once or twice, to test it out—it was working _perfectly._

I dared a glance at him, as though suddenly realizing this act of…_kindness? _

"Thank…you." I breathed out.

His eyes flickered toward me, though they didn't rise beyond my waist. "You're welcome," he answered. "Now get back to work."

* * *

**I was DYIIIING to write this chapter. Honestly. I had it imagined so vividly in my head, and**** I was feeling creatively inspired today. ****I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Til next time!**

**PS: JR, I'm so glad the cover art gave you chills, thank you! And thank you to everyone that reviewed - I read, and reread your guys' comments, suggestions, feedback, everything. Always. Thank you. :) **


	4. Chapter 4: Never before, never again

I shadowed the Prince in the weeks that followed. Always nearby, and ever silent. I could probably stitch him a new pair of boots, with how well I'd come to know the designs of the several pairs he rotated through. All the tension from his moment of kindness had faded over the past few weeks, and thinking back to it no longer affected me. Though obviously, there was, and would always be a part of me that remembered his seidr vividly. The warmth, the intimacy… it was only difficult to look at him for the week that followed that incident. The excitement faded shortly after, and everything went back to normal.

As normal as could be, anyway… I certainly wasn't used to averting all my energy and attention to one person, as I did to him. Though the work was never particularly arduous, and I often went back to the catacombs without feeling terribly tired. Only Davos seemed to notice the change—he always did keep a close, affectionate eye on me.

Granted, over the years, I'd become quite protective of him as well—naturally, I don't think I would have grown so close to him in more intimate ways if there was never a scintilla of romantic affection.

The catacombs were generally quiet when I returned at night. Though they came second to the library, which was undoubtedly the most peaceful place in the palace. The Prince seemed to favor it most, and so did I—particularly on sunny days, when natural light was abundant for his reading.

To keep me occupied, Loki often instructed me to go about sorting other books that had been left behind—or perhaps finding others that might be relevant to whatever it was he was perusing.

This week, the subject was forest beasts. Mountain wisps, to be specific—or so the tome read. It was all part of some project that Queen Frigga had recently embarked on, for the purpose of discovering some cure to an ailment that had befallen a few of the nine realms…though the wisps' relevance to the matter was beyond me. They were beautiful creatures, but reclusive and gentle. It made me nervous to think that anyone in the palace would venture to capture one.

It almost felt personal.

Apart from my use of the seidr, the second greatest secret that I would fall to the grave with, were the forest excursions with my mother. Also late at night. when wisps were easily found (one single factoid that the tomes guessed correctly). She was much more gifted with other forms of magic than I was, so it was easy to escape, though we never dared to venture further into the menacing mountains of Asgard. There, we would be defenseless against the terrors of our realm…

I brushed the dust off one of the tomes, and rose to my toes to put it back up on the shelf…nearly stumbling over in place when my stomach growled loudly. I froze mid-movement—hovering the book just above my head—and glanced at the Prince over my shoulder.

A pile of books lay on the stool beside him, while he himself sat contentedly facing the sunlight, one leg kicked over the other. I let out a quiet sigh when he made no acknowledgement of the sound, simply continuing on with the complex language of the foreign tome.

There were two more books on the small stretch of desk that ran along the base of the tall shelves. My stomach gave it another go the moment I picked them up, and I scurried around the corner so as to not disturb the man—in case my stomach continued to decide that I was purposefully withholding food.

"Aila." I heard my name, and frowned anxiously. Dropping my eyes to the ground, I set the books down and returned to the row where Loki sat. In my downward vision, I could see him sitting motionlessly, turning the page as he continued staring at the book. "Fetch my lunch, and bring it to my chambers."

"Yes, my Prince," I murmured lowly and turned to leave.

"—and eat it."

I stopped, and white-hot nervousness slowly seeped into my chest. At face value, it may have seemed like another kindness, but if anyone—_anyone_—knew that I'd tasted the Prince's food, my clothes would be soaked with blood. He hadn't expressed any interest in extending his protection, and what happened to a slave after their working hours was none of their employer's concern.

"_What?_" I murmured as I turned and faced him.

"Consider it an order," he muttered matter-of-factly. "Go. Return to me when you're finished."

I shook my head. "W—why?"

"If you lose any more weight, you'll _disappear,_" he remarked casually—as though he hadn't just ordered me to commit a tempting crime. "_Go._"

It took me a moment to turn away, to tear my eyes from him, feeling somewhat dazed. That took quite some time to dissipate. There was fear, obviously, but each subsequent step away from the Prince yielded anticipation.

The more I thought about it, the more I recalled that his meals always looked _divine._ The juiciest meats, the most nutritious fruits and vegetables. There was no wonder that he himself was so strong and lean—there was no excuse to be anything else, with such exquisite nutrition.

By the time I reached the kitchens, my steps had grown quicker and quicker in pace. And when the food was brought to me, I merely stared at it for a moment—situated atop an ornate metal tray, in the middle of a stone table. The oven fire flickered just beyond it, where the food had just been pulled from. A delicious looking steak, with fragrant cut potatoes, various vegetables and wine, and a separate dish for fruits.

I was to eat _all_ of this myself?

I grinned a bit—secretly. And my chest warmed at the thought of returning to the prince, thanking him. I would even save the bowl of fruit for him, perhaps—I'd be remiss to let him go hungry on my behalf.

My heart pounded as I carried the tray to Loki's chamber, and the knocking at his door was deafened by my own blood pumping in my ears. I turned the corner, and came to an abrupt stop when I recognized that I was not alone.

Astrid.

The servant girl who had come out of the Prince's chamber the night of the banquet—his favor for that night, no doubt. But what she doing outside him room? Even for a servant, it was inappropriate…

She stopped abruptly as well, and we both stood stock-still for a moment or so. I could see her frown—her eyes motioning between myself, the tray, and the door. "So he is ignoring me, then…" she mumbled, a bit sadly.

My eyes remained fixed on the floor as she approached me, and I thinned my lips into a straight line—feeling nervous for a different reason.

"Of all the…_others_ he could have chosen for his care, he picked you," she suddenly mused, her feminine voice lacing with hostility. "Why? Are you so adept at what you do, slave?" she went on, and I didn't move. Not even at the alarming aggression in her tone. "Do you _satisfy_ him?"

She stepped close enough for me to perceive the rise and fall of her chest. In a flash of movement, her hand gripped the edge of the tray, and tugged it to the ground—too quick for me to realize, and it tumbled from my hands. I gasped, horrified, and recoiled—while my heart leapt into my throat.

Most of it shattered, and pieces of glass got all over the food. Save for the fruit bowl, which remained intact—merely knocked over halfway, though barely any of the fruits had tumbled from it. I flinched as she stepped on the food. Gently enough to omit a footstep, but enough for me to know that it was ruined…finally, she kicked the bowl of fruit to the side, and was finished.

The swell of joy had quickly rotted in my heart, and my eyes filled with tears—flowing quickly down my cheeks as I stared down at the broken plates, strewn about and around the metal tray. The horrible waste of food, and waste of kindness. Astrid's footsteps tapped against the floor as she strode off, leaving me alone in the space.

I began to cry. Even though I was a grown woman, I wept like an offended child who had just been paid something immeasurably unfair. My chest tightened as I bent down to the floor slowly, and sobbed intermittently as I swept up the broken pieces. I crouched for some time, crying into my wrist before the pile, and finally lifted it up. Instead of going back to the kitchens, I took the tray into the Prince's chamber, setting it down in front of the table.

I sat in one of the chairs, pulling my knees up to my chest as I carefully picked apart the broken pieces. The tears had dried around my eyes, enough for me to focus on the myriad of _nothing_ that I would get from this. The smallest pieces of glass had been forced into the steak and vegetables under her weight, though the fruits seemed alright. None of the shards had flown toward those, though I carried them to the bathroom and washed them anyway.

I wept a bit longer, just a bit, before returning to the kitchens.

* * *

Loki was assuredly confident in his decision. If Aila was to remain in his service, she would need to survive the harsh conditions of a slave—and if she was hungry by midday, that was hardly conducive to strength enough to serve him until the evening. Or even the next day.

So he had sent her on her way, and expected her to return at least an hour later.

Such was his surprise, when the library doors creaked open rather early.

By this point, Loki had learned the patterns of her dainty footfall enough to know when she was approaching. He glanced up when she appeared around the corner—eyes cast down, as usual—and he arched a brow at the bowl of fruit in her hands, only a quarter eaten. "What's this?"

She strode toward him unflinchingly, and set the bowl down on the desk beside him. He blinked as she suddenly crouched down on one knee beside him, her neutral face upright, but her eyes were lowered to the arm rest. He stared a bit at the hints of red brimming in the corners, focusing on that instead of the book weighing heavily in his hands.

"I wanted to leave some for you—it was more food than I was accustomed to, and I know you don't eat dinner until much later," she said dryly, and bowed her head. "I'm very grateful for your kindness, my Prince."

He glanced at the bowl—what she had thought to keep, to stay his hunger in exchange for her own—and back. Aila's tone had hardly matched the solemn look etched across her features, and Loki furrowed a brow at her suspiciously. "Why do you look upset?"

Aila blinked surprisedly, lip trembling a bit as she made to respond, "I—I'm not upset…"

"You are."

She shook her head.

Loki huffed a bit annoyedly. "Look at me," he demanded, and narrowed his gaze at the woman sealing her lips. Her almond eyes rose reluctantly, prideful brows creased. Loki raked his gaze over her shaken features, from her furrowed brow to her damp, bitten lip. "What happened?"

He'd never looked into her eyes this long before, nor she into his. In fact, before this moment, it was unlikely that there had ever been such an interaction between a nobleman and a slave—and the look in Aila's eyes was telling that she'd considered the same thing. She was nervous, but also bright—apprehensive and wise, and her natural expression appeared to be a feline thoughtfulness. Concocting the next thought.

"Tell me," he murmured again, softer this time.

Aila pressed her lips together reluctantly. "Astrid—a servant—knocked the tray from my hands."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "And why would she do that?"

"I don't know."

Her breathing shallowed, and pupils dilated the longer she stared at him—though the fear and reluctance in her eyes had shifted to something else. As though the brief exchange had fostered a bit of comfort.

"Would you like me to have her punished?"

Aila shook her head, almost immediately. "No."

"Come now," he purred. "How else shall I prevent this woman from harassing you?"

She shrugged a little, easing into a soft grin as color ghosted her cheeks.

_How sweet. _Loki briefly wondered whether he should diminish a bit, and look away.

It was a fleeting thought, and a smile tugged on the corner of his lip instead. The longer he studied her, relishing the brief lightness between them, the more his wonderment began to shift. For a moment, he considered how she might look if she had knelt in front of the chair, instead of beside it. And perhaps, with his leg perched on the stool, and hand spearing through her soft locks, how would she look? Gazing up at him, as she.…

Loki blinked the thought away, and was the first to break the stare—owing to the footsteps that suddenly approached, at this most opportune time.

_Good…_ Such thoughts were dangerous. No more of that.

"Brother," Thor suddenly appeared from around the corner, immediately furrowing a brow at the state of Loki's slave—kneeling beside him, and turning her face away. Color had fully tinted her cheeks at his appearance. "Father wants to see us."

Loki stared up at his brother for a moment, and nodded. "Come," he murmured to Aila as he stood, who had yet to rise to her feet.

He heard the scrape of the plate as he followed Thor from the library, and to the throne room. Aila's footsteps pattered behind him, keeping a respectable distance as always, and he watched her trail over to the columns once they approached the King. Frigga stood at the base of the stairs, and gave them a warm grin before embracing them both.

"My sons," she murmured softly, though her tone was laced with a bit of worry. "I'm happy you got here quickly."

"Why, what's wrong?" Thor asked as she pulled away.

"That is for me to tell you," Odin said from atop his throne, and paused for a moment. "A Haelstrom is approaching Asgard."

Silence hardened throughout the hall. Loki's eyes widened at the news, as he considered it carefully. From all that he had read, a Haelstrom was not like any intelligent, physical opponent that Asgard could face. Rather, it was a phenomenon of space itself—a collection of darting, writhing slits of matter that could cut through flesh like it was nothing.

"Haelstrom?" Thor muttered. "What is that?"

"Something that has not happened in four thousand years," Odin answered. "And in my time, I have only had to call this protocol once—it will be here in three months' time, and we must be ready."

"Asgard must be ready," Frigga answered knowingly. "We will be safe behind the palace walls, but no one must be caught in the storm when it strikes. They're said to only last a few moments, but they can go longer—and it will be devastating."

Loki's thoughts flitted about the matter. About Asgard, about their home, the surrounding villages… "What of your project, mother? The wisps? And the village people?"

"They will need to be notified," she said. "And as for the creatures of the woods…the storm will strike during the winter months, I suspect there won't be much of their home to destroy. They survived this once, I'm sure they will do so again."

He nodded, and gave half a glance to the figure of Aila standing beside the column. "And what of the catacombs? Will our…_lesser residents_ survive?"

Movement flickered in Frigga's brow.

"The catacombs will be sufficient protection," Odin clarified. "We are the first to know of this forecast, though the news will spread quickly. As my sons, I expect you to do your part in remaining calm," he eyed Loki. "Do not incite panic, or encourage it."

A bitter grin tugged on the corner of Loki's mouth. "Obviously."

* * *

**SOOOOO. Okay, so first off, sorry if this chapter was a little bit boring. But there was one very important thing that I wanted to establish with it. **

**I am, in part, a romance writer. This story has more romance proportionally than anything else (all my works will always have tension and romance and love and angst and everything you read in my fan fiction), and I want to make clear that I am a big believer in tasteful physical intimacy. I think it's an important, relevant part of falling in love, and everything that comes with it is natural. If you're uncomfortable with adult themes, I don't recommend reading further, because there will be some important, defining moments for them down the line of that nature. **

**Thank you guys so much for your support for this story. I read and reread your feedback, and I get a lot of food for thought from it. And lemme tell ya, this has become a bit of an escape from my stressed out, nutso schedule lol. I just want to give you guys all the hugs! Thank you so much!**


	5. Chapter 5: Where the Apple Falls

Days spent at the training grounds were always easier on me, since there wasn't much work for me to do. I generally stood—or sat—at the edge of the rink, while the Prince engaged with his brother, and the Warriors Three. I often wondered if they realized that he used magic, however subtle it was. The Prince's movements were his own, but his seidr was ever-present. Always glowing beautifully in translucent wisps around his skin—practically unnoticeable. I'd have to look for it to find it most days, but it was always there to my liking, whenever I had a look.

And it was fascinating to behold. Not even my mother—who was exceptionally more gifted than I—brimmed with such magical energy. It didn't plume from her in the middle of our lessons.

On any given day, the patter of my feet became customary behind the thump of his heavy boots. I trailed after him one perfect afternoon in a palace hallway, after a half-day in the rink, and evening time was near. It just before the start of a new week, and as usual, I strolled past him when we entered his chambers, making to fix him a hot bath in the bathroom—a post-shower routine that he regularly indulged.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror before strolling back to the main chamber—feeling a bit nervous for the favor I was about to ask.

"My Prince, I—" I stuttered, cheeks heating suddenly at the sight of contracting muscles, while he threw his shirt over his head. I tossed my gaze to the ground, but not before his eyes fell on me as he lowered his arms. I watched from afar as he casually balled the shirt in his hands, though I couldn't make out his expression from the ground. "I—I'd like to request an early leave tonight."

The movement stunted a bit. "Really? And why is that?"

"I have something to go to tonight." I revealed freely.

In any other circumstances, I night've said nothing—I wouldn't dare to breathe a word about my destination tonight…but the Prince had been kind to me through the course of these past few weeks. There was a trustworthiness about him, something about his lack of care of things that did not affect him directly. He struck me as the type of master would rather know, without consequence, than be lied to.

"Is that so?" The Prince tossed the matted shirt onto the bed, and sauntered toward me slowly, arms crossed over his toned chest.

He stopped a bit closer to me than I anticipated, and for a moment, I wasn't sure what to do with myself—the thought of lowering my eyes further down from his arms brought an uncomfortable redness to my face, but I didn't want to stare right at him either. So my eyes flitted beside him instead—to the floor, just past the curve of his strong arm. His massive bed was on the other side…and I wasn't about to stare at that instead.

"What would that be?" he asked.

"A wedding."

He paused. "A _wedding?"_

"Not a real wedding by anyone's standards, I'm sure—not by the court's standards, anyway," I murmured lowly, grinning just a bit. "More of a gesture of sentiment. I'm sure you know that we can't marry, so we 'declare' ourselves instead. Not an official capacity in any sense, but a declaration means something to our community."

He muttered curiously, "And what might that be?"

"Love—of course.…protection, at times."

He tilted his head. "Protection from what?"

I shrugged. "Other slaves, at most, for women. Loneliness, at least, for all of us together."

The Prince stood silently for a time. "You're very forthcoming, Aila," he muttered grimly. "You realize who you've told this to?"

"Of course I do."

"…do you _wish_ me to report it?"

I furrowed a brow slightly, apprehension suddenly coiling in my stomach. "I—I didn't think you'd tell anyone."

"And why would you think that?"

I shrugged, bringing my hands together nervously before me. "A long list of reasons, I suppose…"

Silence slipped between us for a moment, and I was tempted to shift uncomfortably—anything to taper his icy stance before me. "Well, you've clearly been quite pensive on the subject," the Prince muttered lowly, without inquiring further—thankfully. "You're dismissed, then. You may go."

"A—Are you going to tell someone?"

"No."

I nodded, letting out a relieved sigh. With an acknowledging curtsy, I headed toward the door.

"Aila?"

I stopped, turning and looking down at the ground before his feet. "Yes?"

He paused. "Have _you_ declared yourself to anyone?"

I furrowed a brow at his ruminative tone. Though all the same, Davos' face flashed before my eyes—knowing I would likely declare myself to him one day, if he asked. I had always been aware of his affections, and he of the extent of mine. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory to him, and he was waiting for something greater than what we had—I would never fault him for that. Though as the state of our relationship related to me, well… he had only to ask, and I would've been his.

"No," I answered. "Not yet."

For a moment, Prince Loki stood motionlessly across the room. Only when his boots shuffled toward the bathroom without a word, did I finally turn and leave the room. Relishing the coolness of the hallway rushing against my cheeks.

* * *

The movement was swift and subtle, but Loki had caught it—Aila glancing at herself in the mirror. As the weeks went by, he'd shared a number of his meals with the reluctant girl, and as time went by, she began filling her clothes in a womanly fashion.

The changes were subtle, likely only visible to the one man who'd seen her every day. And there they were, his ever-present, ever-pleasant distractions—hips, breasts, and cheeks filled in slightly. The woman was lovely, not at all difficult to look at. And her utter inability to hide the effects of his bare presence was doubly amusing—_endlessly_ satisfying.

Knowing she'd been staring at the ground, Loki took the liberty of drifting over her form a bit when she stood at the door, ready to leave. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he turned one last time to look her over, before she left. In his mind, he noted yet another mystery of her that he discovered moments before—that the slaves had concocted their own form of marriage.

What else was there to learn about Aila, perhaps the others? Try as he might, he could not garner her to use her seidr, nor reveal any other aspect of her life—like who had taught it to her. It had become both an amusing and tiresome effort, and tonight, he would take advantage of Aila's absence to enlist some help and advice.

Within an hour, he was on his way to his mother's chambers, and the lack of footsteps trailing behind him was almost haunting. Granted, Aila hadn't hung from him _all_ hours of the day, but there was something about the knowledge—or lack thereof—of the state of her whereabouts that unsettled him. He never liked being outside the 'know' of palace affairs.

"You wanted to see me, Loki?" The Queen greeted him warmly, after dismissing her handmaidens. "And you're without your little shadow tonight," she remarked, glancing in her mirror while Loki strode to the couches at the far end of the massive room.

He smirked amusedly. "Yes, she's…" he paused. "She's gone to a wedding, if you would believe it."

Frigga's brows shot up incredulously, and she turned toward him slowly in her vanity chair. "A…_wedding?" _

"—of sorts."

"I wasn't aware that slaves _could_ marry."

"They can't."

Her motherly gaze shifted weightily—to that of a satisfied activist, plotting in her thoughts. "Well, they must be finding ways to circumvent your father's laws among their ranks…though I'm surprised she chose to share this with _you._"

True enough, Loki had been thinking about it since she did. "No more than I, mother."

"She must trust you very much. I hope you do not betray it."

"Why would I do that?" Loki asked. Frigga arched a brow indicatively, staring at her son for a moment, until he rolled his eyes. "I would never betray it."

"_Never?_" His mother mused suspiciously, but was not met with a readied answer. "Well… perhaps in time, she will confide in you about other matters as well."

Something lightened in Loki's chest at the thought—though only for a moment. "Perhaps not to the extent of her seidr," he remarked somewhat bitterly, reviewing his efforts to trick the woman into revealing it. Indeed, he'd told the Queen of the slave's practices—and just as he expected, his _mother_ aptly kept the secret that Aila didn't know they shared. "In all my efforts, I haven't managed to budge her on its usage."

"It is a grave offense, Loki," Frigga said, raising a brow at her son. "And a personal matter in her eyes, for you and I—two such practitioners of it."

Loki looked back confusedly. "I would never take personal offense to it."

The queen shook her head knowingly. "For all that poor girl knows, you'd be dismayed at someone of her station tarnishing the craft."

_Tarnish? _

"That's hardly the word I'd use for it…" Loki's voice trailed off, as his gaze slid to the floor—reminiscing on that night in the throne room.

"I wonder if her peers might know…" Frigga murmured under her breath, drawing Loki's attention back to her.

"Know what?"

"Of her practices." Frigga looked at him gravely. "I suspect others would have betrayed her by now. Even the slaves must turn on each other, despite their mutual hardships. I'd be surprised to learn that she's kept this from them…For only the three of us to know such a great secret, and two being precluded from conversing with her on the subject…it would be a lonely existence for her, atop the rest."

"I wouldn't know what she does and doesn't tell her friends." Loki shook his head. "I don't know anything else about her life. I've never even been to the catacombs."

"Nor have I." Frigga narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Though I can't imagine it's pleasant down there—no sun or moonlight, to begin with."

The thought of a wedding held in the dark tugged at Loki's curiosity. "To think they're having a celebration down there right now, then…"

Frigga arched a brow, looking back at herself in the vanity. "Strange thought, isn't it?"

"A curious one—I can't quite imagine it."

"Nor can I…" She nodded, eyes glazing over with a distant thought. Her fingers tapped against the desk before her.

Silence crept into the room for a moment, while mother and son sat separately—each delving into their own thoughts on the subject. Loki knew nothing of Aila's world, of the slaves she resided with in the deepest bowels of the palace. How did she sleep at night, and on what? Was there security, or even light? Provisions, should they need them?

"_Loki,_" Frigga said suddenly, and he blinked back to her—arching a brow at the narrowest hint of scheming in her expression. "How set are you in your evening plans?"

He lowered his chin. "_Why?_"

She blinked off to the side in thought. "I might have an idea."

Loki stared for a moment, and smirked. "Well, that's never good."

A single chuckle beat through her chest. "Who do you think you take after?" she muttered mischievously, and stood. "_Come._"

"What?" he asked, looking up at her from the couch. "Come where?"

Frigga strode confidently across the room, retrieving a small dagger from behind her nightstand. It disappeared in a flash of seidr as she whirled in his direction, throwing a hand up—with another flash of green, their appearances were no longer their own. As Loki trailed down the length of his arms, he grimaced abhorrently at the worn garbs that now clothed him—a slave's garbs.

"Is this a joke?" he asked, rising slowly from the couch.

"No joke at all," Frigga said, trailing toward the door, pausing to look back at him. She shrugged. "Well you're welcome to stay, if you've somewhere better to be."

Loki scoffed amusedly, waiting only a moment for the idea to sink in, before following his mother's footsteps.

* * *

The catacombs were dark. Vast, hollow spaces—and eerily dark to top it off. Both Loki and Frigga required some semblance of seidr to see in between the torchlights, and even then, they could not fully perceive all the edges and details of the tunnel walls expanding around them. Soon, they reached the living quarters themselves, where there was a bit more light, and rooms branched all around them.

Beds and supply crates were stacked on one another, atop dirt flooring. There were a number of people sleeping already, and no guards. Others were gathered around the occasional fire pits, casting yellowish glows on the cavelike walls of the catacombs. During their trek, Loki and Frigga paused only once at the sound of a sudden fight breaking off in one of the vast halls. They glanced through the archway to see a group of men casting their tired gazes downward beside them—and there, there was a pair of fighting, bellowing comrades throwing fists among themselves. Something about several stolen loafs of bread…and a stolen woman.

Everything was positively filthy, including their language. The thought of a creature as sweet as Aila returning here each night was nauseating. Particularly as his eyes scanned over the dusty, rotting wooden beds—any one of these could have been hers. How did she manage to look so clean and rosy each day?

There were the occasional belongings strewn about the place as well, though they looked as though they could have been fished from the garbage bins. Broken instruments, small shelves, derelict perfumes bottles—what use could those possibly have—and disgustingly worn garments. It was in that moment that Loki realized how Aila kept all of this hidden in her appearance—the palace clothes were the only bits of clothing draped neatly over bedsides. The slaves themselves were wearing abhorrent apparel that he had never seen before.

Though her face was masked with seidr, Loki could recognize his mother's thoughts plainly—utter horror at the reality existing beneath their golden palace. He hadn't noticed when she altered their clothes accordingly, but it was clear that she'd been making the same observations as well. Her arm snaked around his, in a gesture of protection—perhaps giving, perhaps seeking—rightly enough, he'd eviscerate any slave that dared raise a hand against his mother.

And…perhaps Aila as well, if she needed his help.

Frigga stopped at some imperceptible sound, echoing from somewhere far away. "Do you hear that?" she leaned over, whispering to him.

"It's coming from there." He nodded down one of the branching halls. A subsequent cheer was indicative of a celebration, and they stalked toward it quietly.

The sounds had grown, with a series of poorly coordinated instruments. After some time, an entire scene opened up before them—namely a large hall, with crates stacked on one another along its edges, upon which slaves were sitting. Others danced, alone and in pairs, on the floor and around the room. Boisterously, at that—Loki had never seen such open merriment in his life, such freedom in their movements and spirit. Meanwhile, the glow of a central pit cast dancing shadows against the domed walls.

"_There she is,_" Frigga whispered, pointing subtly across the pit.

Loki followed her direction, seeing Aila's face amidst the sparse crowd. The girl beside her must have been the bride, judging by the tiny, picked flowers adorning her hair, and temporary modifications to her palace wardrobe. Grinning as she danced, Aila held the bride's hand on one side, and someone else's on the other.

Loki barely recognized the young man to her left—tall and handsome, with short, brown locks that curled atop his head. He was the one that carried her mother from the palace banquet, the night of her death. A true friend to Aila, it seemed—though a mere friend would hardly tug her in his direction, and run his hands around her waist, the way he just did.

She herself was wearing some dull, unfamiliar shawl that the man gripped tightly, and Loki watched as she spun into it, coiling it around her—right up against his chest. She donned a positively feline grin as he gave the shawl a tug, and she spun away from him again, in beat with the music. Her expression tread dangerously close to being affectionate…

The inexplicable bitterness grew, as he watched the man suddenly hoist Aila over his shoulder—spinning her amusedly—though it loosened slightly at his surprise at the musical laughter that poured from her. The way that the corners of her eyes turned upward mirthfully, looking about the room freely, instead of at the ground. A smile stretched across her regal features, somehow lighting up the space on its own.

He'd never heard her laugh like that, or seen her wear such a pleasant expression. She was an entirely different person from the one he knew.

The music was pitiful at best, against the pleasant sound of Aila's laughter. He'd almost wished to hear it again when it stopped, though a lapse in the musical festivity had slowly begun shifting into the scene. Aila remained beside the bride after the man had set her down, while the bride rejoined her groom atop one of the crates. She sat on the ground just a few paces away, seemingly elevating the bride's status beside her, and the young man sat between them on the ground, unexpectedly close. Aila barely shifted to make some room, but that was her only sign of recoiling from him.

"This is certainly not what I expected," Frigga muttered quietly, and Loki looked down at her.

"Which part?" he whispered.

"_All of it."_

Her expression was grave when she glanced up at him, before turning back to the scene. Some semblance of wedding speeches had seemingly begun, and the two of them listened as individuals took turns speaking—offering warm wishes, and jests that would have been too crude for the palace.

Aila rose suddenly, and Loki's attention snapped to her immediately. The young man rose a bit as well, but leaned back against one of the crates—not unlike others nearby. Aila wore her lesser garments this night, but the frame of her beauty remained: the thoughtfulness in her gaze, the practitioner's confidence seeping in her demeanor.

Though…there was a lightness in her expression that Loki had yet to see before this night, a youthful mirth that she'd clearly kept hidden all this time.

Something coiled tightly in Loki's stomach, turning over at the sight of her companion's 'appreciative' leer.

Aila turned and retrieved a small, wooden cup from one of the crates. She first murmured something to the bride, and then cast a warm grin toward the rest of the room—clearing her throat to project more loudly.

"Our lives are hard, it's true," she said—continuing off from where the last speech-giver had stopped. "They always will be, this much we have accepted."

In the corner of his eye, Loki saw Frigga tilt her head.

"But we don't have to accept living out our existence alone—and when we find a person to share it with," she continued, looking back at the bride and groom, lifting her cup to them a bit. "He is worth more than the greatest king."

A wave of sentimental croons broke out, while Loki eyed her curiously—delving into the depths of his own mind, to understand the world as Aila saw it. Despite her life's hardships, it must have been an interesting place, for time and age within it to foster such value and love for those around her—namely the would-be man on her arm.

And speaking of… Loki watched her companion shift his gaze to her slowly—appreciatively, as though her words were meant for him. And he observed her with such care in his eyes, such warmth in the smile that stretched across his lips, that Loki glared in wonderment.

Never had he looked upon a woman with such affection.

And never had he thought it to be such an _abhorrent_ sight.

Frigga glanced over at her son, and then looked back twice—a grave and worried expression growing in her features.

"Dina," Aila continued, looking between the bride and the groom. "And Eros—I truly wish you all the happiness, that I could ever want for _myself—_I wish it for you. Congratulations." She finished with a smile, and a round of applause began.

The next person stood, but Frigga moved to inch away from the scene. "We should go, Loki…"

The Prince remained unmoving, staring intently at his slave woman. At the way that her companion slid down to the ground beside her, and embraced her protectively with his long limbs. His eyes were fixed on Aila's features—at the distance in her grin when she looked upon him, and the subtlest hints of movement rippling through her form as she made room between them. Why not move away entirely? Why not recoil from his affections, if they were unwelcome? _Were_ they, or _weren't_ they?

Frigga tugged on his arm. "_Loki,_" she whispered a bit more sharply. "_You will see her tomorrow—let's go." _

He shook his head a bit, as though coming out of a stupor. Yes, tomorrow she would be by his side all day, at the luncheon—yet another boring palace event. No festivities or boisterous laughter. No speeches and warm smiles. He would have to look elsewhere for all that—if he wanted it at all.

* * *

**FRIGGA IS MY FAV. I'd eviscerate someone for her too. Don't fux with her. Loki's also totally the type of son I'd want to have, who actually talks to me and has a relationship with me, etc. because so many of my guy friends don't have one with their mothers. I already know that my future child will be hell spawn (because I was a hell spawn toddler), but hopefully they'll be as close to me as I am to my mother now, as an adult.**

**Anywho. I've been an over-exerted, stressed out little ball of existential mess these past few weeks, and I appreciate everyone that supported me through it. The storm has thankfully passed, and balance has been struck once more. Yeesh on me. It sounds like everyone's enjoying the story so far, and I'm really happy to see that. A certain someone that I live with still isn't accustomed to the facial expression I apparently make when I read your guys' awesome, supportive reviews. Thank you thank you THANK YOU for that. Til next time. :) **


	6. Chapter 6: How Vexxing

The luncheon was held outside, on a beautiful, breezy day, in one of Asgard's many beautiful courtyards. This particular one was just on the water, with all the buildings towering high around them, while the coolness of the water sent a beautiful breeze over the canopies and tablecloths.

Loki was seated at a rather large, circular table with Thor and the Warriors Three, as well as Lady Sif. They sat to his left, while on the right were a number of Asgard's noblemen. Aila stood some ways away from the table, averting her eyes from a number of the other servants that had been working the event. Aila, of course, was only obligated to Loki's service—though her help was hardly needed. Evidently there'd been a slight change in leadership, and a new servant was now in charge, aptly filing the servants into order.

While Loki was a gifted conversationalist, he spared the occasional glance toward his slave woman—thinking back to the night before. Her roaming gaze, her thoughtful words…and when she approached their table to serve them more wine, he hardly believed that anyone seated around him took no notice of her. Bits of soft hair strewn about her shoulders loosely, the angular run of her jaw and regal features—she was a loose handed, elegant drawing come to life. What did _she_ think of all these people? Of this event? Of the palace? Surely she had more than a few insightful thoughts buzzing around in that head of hers.

"What do you think, brother?" Thor's voice suddenly resonated, and Loki blinked down at him as Aila traipsed around the table.

"What do I think about what?"

He gave Loki a confused look, as though he'd clearly expected him to pay attention to such a conversation. "Emissaries from Niflheim, visiting in six months' time."

"Ah yes, the 'land of darkness and mist…'" Loki mused, forking a vegetable as Aila's slender arm appeared within sight—pouring wine for someone across the table. "Well, it'll certainly make for an interesting occasion."

Silence passed around the table. "Is that all you have to say of it?" Thor asked dubiously.

"I will have more to say when we meet them for the first time."

A guest chuckled beside him—Althar, a distant acquaintance from one of Asgard's richest families. "Ever the curious one, Loki—since you were a child. Very strange,"

Loki clenched his jaw, loathing when Althar spoke of him in such a fashion. The nobleman was close to Loki's age, yet he spoke as though he were much older—frequently allowed to do so, given his family's high rank in Asgard. And when Loki glanced to his side, he looked twice at the man's leer at Aila across the table.

"And you've an interesting taste in staff, it appears," the nobleman raked his gaze over her form. Aila's hair hung down over her shoulders as she poured the Lady Sif's wine, and she stiffened at realizing that she had been mentioned.

"True enough," Thor agreed, though his voice was void of the same unpleasant tone—curiosity, if nothing else. "Girl, what is your name?"

Loki looked between Thor and Aila, watching as she straightened up—holding the decanter close to her abdomen—keeping her thoughtful eyes fixed in the center of the table. "Aila, my Prince."

"Aila," Thor repeated. "And where are you from, Aila?"

She pressed her lips together reluctantly. "I was born here, my Lord," she answered softly—neutrally.

"Oh." He nodded, understanding the implications of her birth into servitude. "And what of your parents?"

Loki's eyes flickered down to her hans, gripping the decanter nervously—not matching the controlled expression on her face. How could no one else notice the remarkable composure she held?

"My mother was from Vanaheim," she said.

All eyes turned to her suddenly, and it was Fandral who spoke next—having charged at the head of the siege that first brought the slaves to Asgard. "Vanaheim was not at war with Asgard, how did she end up a slave?"

"S—She allied herself with someone from another realm."

"Which realm?" Thor asked.

"Look at us, child," Sif chimed in softly, looking upon Aila with a kindly expression.

Beads of sweat began forming at the top of Aila's forehead—this was clearly a difficult subject, and Loki prepared to intervene. The tactlessness of his peers sometimes astounded him. The girl was clearly uncomfortable…for reasons he would extract at a later time.

Aila looked up at her immediately, drawing a raised brow from the lady warrior. "I don't know. My mother never spoke much of my father," Aila answered kindly, turning her attention to Thor. "Aside from telling me that she ran from an abusive man, who brought her within inches of her life. She fled before she had me, to save me from the same fate. That's all I ever learned of my family."

The table grew eerily quiet, and tension flickered in Loki's brow as he looked upon her—learning so much in just a few short sentences. More than he had in the weeks he'd already been employing her. Aila sighed slightly as she glanced over at him, and he was actually pleased that she had looked at him without instruction to do so.

"I'm sorry," Thor answered her. "That's a…very unfortunate story."

"Maybe." She nodded, looking back at him with a kindly tone. "But I turned out alright, I think…"

Thor's eyes softened a bit as he looked at her curiously, and Loki watched as they briefly flickered over her form, before falling back to his plate.

Tension rippled through Loki's jaw, and he suddenly regretted thinking it was a shame that no one else at the table had noticed her. "Aila," he called to her, reaching for his cup. "My glass is empty."

Without another word, she dropped her eyes to the ground and trailed over to him. The rest of the table resumed its idle conversation, while Althar leered at her backside as she stepped between him and Loki. The Prince's gaze narrowed as he watched through the corner of his eyes, noting how the man's gaze ran along her curvatures.

"Turned out alright, did you?" He murmured quietly as he looked up at her, and raised a hand to her waist. "In more ways than one, I imagine—"

Loki's hand shot out from behind her and gripped Althar's wrist. Aila flinched at the movement, inching toward her master a bit when she realized what happened—he was the only protective figure nearby. "Now, now," Loki mused. "Don't touch what isn't yours, my friend."

The nobleman grinned incredulously, and chuckled. "Is that to say that this piss poor creature is_ yours, Loki_?"

Across the way, Thor noticed the scene, and frowned.

"I have employed her, so yes," Loki answered tersely.

"Fine, _fine…" _Althar pulled away, and raised both hands in surrender, while his other friend—another noble whose name Loki could not remember—smirked beside him at the display. With a telling glance in his direction, Althar chuckled lowly as Aila stepped back. "_I won't touch her." _

What came next, Loki should have seen coming. He should have seen it in the wryness dripping in the man's tone, the amusement in his eyes—the need to establish his importance over that of a _piss poor creature_. With flick of Althar's wrist, next came the flight of the oiliest soup on the table. It smacked straight into Aila at the drop of a hat, soaking through her hair and clothes. A number of gasps broke out, and even some faint chuckles after a moment, from other tables.

Loki rose sharply from his seat, glaring as Althar looked to his entourage amusedly.

"_Loki,_" Thor warned.

"It's time you left, Althar," he mused with a sly, yet intent expression.

The nobleman creased a brow, feigning disbelief at Loki's unamused expression. "Now why would I do that, friend?"

"A Prince of Asgard has ordered you to leave." He paused, giving Thor a sidelong glance—seeing the tacit agreement in his eyes. "And if you don't, I will personally see to it that Odin learns how gravely you've offended his sons."

In the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thor cross his arms in agreement.

"Offended you?" Althar smirked, casting a look toward Aila that aptly combined leering with disgust. "Over a pretty little slave bitch? Come now, you must cultivate your sense of humor."

Not wishing Aila to hear more of his insults, Loki schooled his irate features with a stark neutrality, and turned sharply toward her. In two long strides, he was at her side. "Go to the showers, wash yourself. Return when you've finished."

The look of surprise coated her expression, tugging at the wetness that formed in her eyes. "I…can't," she ground out. "I've already had mine for the day, it costs money and I can't afford another one—"

"I will pay for it," he murmured softly, and Aila's eyes fluttered surprisedly— rising to meet his, before she caught herself. "Use my name to get whatever you need. Go."

Her lips thinned into a straight line, and she nodded briskly before walking away—looking a bit dazed as she covered her mouth with her wrist. Loki slid his gaze back to Althar, who'd risen from the table with hands up on either side of him.

"Very well," he said with a grin. "I'll leave, if it'll spare your _wrath."_

Loki frowned, confused at his sudden admission. A moment ago, he refused to leave. Though as he watched Althar's eyes flicker in Aila's direction and back, an uncomfortable instinct roiled in his gut at the leer persisting in his expression, even as he turned and strode away from the table—away from the event.

* * *

I was humiliated. The creamy soup had stained my clothes permanently, and I doubted it would wash out. With the option to choose the scented materials—for once—I still opted for one that was only mildly sweet…however strange it was to even consider the option, at first. It was a kindness I would never forget.

It took a moment to allow myself to revel in the sweet smelling materials washing over me. A luxury in and of itself, and I noted that I would have to find a way to thank the Prince for this later. Perhaps I could owe him the money he'd spend on my behalf.

Footsteps appeared in the shower house.

I furrowed a brow—another servant, maybe? It was the middle of the day, so there were no other servants in there at the time. I turned slowly in their direction, hearing nothing again. They started again and stopped, as though they were leisurely sauntering back and forth, hiding when my awareness of them became apparent. A sliver of fear crept in, and I exchanged the hot water for a towel, making to leave the place immediately.

A hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me back sharply. My eyes snapped up, widening in horror as I stood inches away from the nobleman that had been sitting at Loki's table. The reason I had a need to come here at all. He was here, in the shower house.

"W—What are you doing here!? _Men aren't allowed in these showers!_" I snapped quickly, not knowing what else to say—even though I knew that that meant little to him. Panic surged in my chest as I looked down at his hand, still gripping my arm.

"Shut up," he sneered with an eery grin, and I cried out as he pulled me closer to him, and began pushing me backward toward one of the walls.

I fought him fervently, but my strength was no match for his. I thrashed as he shoved me back, panic and anger overtaking me completely until I burst. The impulse to strike him flashed quicker than I had thought about it, and seidr concentrated in my hand just barely enough to knock him back. I didn't know whether it was strong enough for him to realize what it was, but it was just hard enough to send him to the ground.

The towel had been coming loose, and I wrapped it tightly around myself as I darted for the exit. Panic was gripping me fully now, and I felt my body plunging into the hot state of stress that I'd been fighting to resist. Mother's death, my new employment, everything—I'd reserved crying for private moments throughout the day, and continued going about my work, for the sake of my survival. Mother would have wanted me to do so.

But now, I just couldn't…tears were rising to my eyes quite rapidly, matching the percussive pounding of my heart against my ribcage. Creating a symphony of panicked thudding in my ears, loud enough to prevent my hearing the brisk footfall approaching from the outside.

* * *

It didn't sit well with Loki. He tried, he really did, to forget what he'd seen—the scheming look in Althar's eyes. He knew it well, having donned it many times himself. The intentness, the _desire _for something_. _For power, for amusement—it didn't matter. It was a dangerous look, and it didn't sit well with him.

Ignoring Thor as he called his name in protest, Loki stood and left the luncheon—his legs carrying him in the direction of the shower house. There had to have been a reason this all bothered him so much, but it was hardly worth ruminating on—his gut told him to be sure. He couldn't stomach the idea of that dullard enacting the most repugnant of schemes.

He marched down the long, outdoor hallway, pausing only when he heard a slight thump, and the patter of feet. When he neared the door, Aila's form burst out from the archway leading inside—colliding straight into him, enough to make him flinch. Her glossy eyes shot up to him in fear and shock as she stumbled slightly from the collision. His hands shot up to steady her, and one of hers clutched his arm instinctively, the other holding her towel.

Even he stumbled back a bit, and caught the choked gasp in the back of his throat—which instead escaped in a sharp exhale as he gaped.

"_Loki—_" she gasped without thinking, her voice wrought with shock and fear.

His name on her lips focused him suddenly, even as Aila turned sharply and looked back toward the doorway. Her wet hair whipped around her with the movement, sending several cold droplets onto Loki's face, but he didn't move. He didn't look away.

Yes, he saw the terror that gripped her features, had registered the glimmer of fear in her voice… And yet, even more than that, he registered nothing past the slickness of her shoulders. The heat pluming off her from the shower. And when something tugged at his line of sight, he followed it absently—scraping down the length of her body, down to her bare legs.

His eyes darted back up as she turned to him, fisting the edges of the towel together tightly.

His gaze flickered toward the movement and back, and he swallowed thickly. The towel was not tucked into itself—she was holding it with one hand.

Loki released her wet shoulders immediately, and turned to face the other direction with a look of pointed restraint.

"What happened?" he choked out, struggling to subdue the tightness in his throat. Though it loosened on its own at the sound of the quiet sob that followed.

"That man at your table is…" she whimpered. "H-He came into the shower, a-and—"

He didn't wait to hear the rest. Loki turned and stalked around her, stepping into to the humid air of the shower house. Althar was indeed inside, slowly rising from what appeared to be a strike severe enough to knock him to the ground.

He hissed, "That little _bitch _of yours practices magic—"

Loki's hand flew to the man's neck, coated in a thick layer of seidr. "You will forget the words you just said to me," he muttered lowly, allowing his magic to seep into the man's skull. "_Swine. _And you will avoid looking upon my woman's face ever again," his fingers squeezed. "Lest you forget how close you are to death in this moment."

A nobleman's murder would wreck havoc upon the palace right now, in the midst of all their festivities. Others were to be visiting Asgard constantly these coming weeks, and the murder of one of their own by a crown prince would surely be chaotic news that would ripple into all their affairs.

"Take the back door," Loki growled as he released him slowly, listening to the man scramble away.

He intended to follow after him, and turn to head back outside. Loki willed his legs to move, but a sinking thought anchored him for a time, keeping him rooted in place, staring into one of the stalls—perhaps the very same that Aila had used.

Confusion slowly—very slowly—streaked across his features.

_My woman—my 'serving' woman. _The thought crept across his mind.

He let out a heavy breath, and his eyes trailed over to the door, as his legs carried him toward it slowly. Aila was gone by the time he reached the threshold.

* * *

**I was in a very 'looool' mood about this chapter. And I'm all about that subconscious attraction stuff. I thought about what Loki would do if I had Aila stick around for whatever he was going to do to Althar, but decided against it. I don't think I'd stick around for it either-she thinks she'll deal with the seidr thing later. Maybe. **

**Anywho. I finished a huge chunk of my real-life work today, so hurray for me! Thank you guys so much for continuing to review and share your thoughts with me. One of you literally just posted twenty minutes ago, and I mentally waved at you because I knew you were getting another chapter in twenty minutes. Also, I love Loki and Frigga's closeness too! And I totally tell my mom everything as well-she's the first person I'll tell. I also know that one of you has an infant, and if your super kind and supportive reviews have indicated anything to me, it's that you're probably a great mother and will have a great relationship with your kid. Human to human, I totally wish that for you. **

**So yeah, there will definitely be another one of those chapters soon too, and it'll be entitled "Mother Mischief," based on a cute response I got from one of you readers. Hope you guys liked this chapter, and are fangirling as hard as I did when I wrote it! :) please, please continue to leave reviews, it's so lovely and encouraging to read them! See you next time! **


	7. Chapter 7: Can't Always Get What We Want

I was shaken, to say the least. Less so because of what happened—a situation I'd encountered numerous times throughout my life as a slave, though it never went that far—and more because of my magic.

The Prince said nothing of my seidr in the days that passed. Granted, I hadn't used much of it in the shower house to defend myself, but I had spent the rest of that day wrestling with my own anxiety. Had that other man felt it? Was I exposed?

Prince Loki said nothing of it that following evening, nor in the days that followed. Time assuaged the panic… and in fact, the night of the incident, he seemed a bit perturbed himself—as though _he_ had something to worry about. His lips were pressed in a thin line for the entirety of our conversation, and he listened tautly as I explained everything that happened. Tension rippled in his jaw, and fire blazed in his gaze. When I was finished, he cast a solemn glance into the kindled evening fire, and excused me for the night without another word.

In the weeks that followed, my employment with the lesser prince spurred even _more_ trouble—though of a more sensitive nature.

Astrid continued to endeavor to make my life as difficult as possible, and had done so since her promotion to Head Maid. While Asgard was to enjoy a series of celebrations in the months to come—marking the end of warfare between realms—my life grew more and more turbulent under her reign. My rations were significantly reduced, and I was set to do the most laborious work. Work that was often reserved for the men, due to their comparably larger stature.

The night of the incident, I hadn't encountered her for the rest of the day—she was busy with the luncheon—and I was on my way out of the kitchens when she happened upon me for the first time.

"And where are you going?" she had muttered lowly as I sauntered by her—plastering my eyes down to the cold, stone floor. For a moment, only the torches provided any sound between us.

"To Loki's chambers, my lady." I curtsied to her, keeping my eyes down. I hated when she cornered me like this. My burst of seidr earlier that day had been a fluke—a random event—and I was lucky to have kept it concealed. I'd never been able to summon it in such a violent manner before, and I was left at her mercy at all other times.

She pivoted slowly, her dress swaying around her feet as she sauntered toward me. Her steps echoed through the tall hallway outside the kitchen, where we were alone. "To…_whose_ chambers?"

A hard smack at my cheek sent me flying to the ground. After that, she turned back to the kitchen, and when the door flew open, I looked back to see several others—slaves and servants alike—looking out at the sight of me sprawled over the floor. My elbow had hurt from the impact, and it was already late by the time I'd gathered myself and returned to the Prince's chambers—shaken once more.

I could have reported her to him—and risked facing more punishment for the complaint. I'd considered it in the days that followed, rationalized that it was worth the risk. Though it would have been an invasion into his past affairs, and I could not gauge how that would fare. All I needed was to give Astrid a reason, and I would wake with beating hooks embedded in my back—and there was no clear indication that the Prince would really _do _something about it. Ensure my safety.

True, he'd joked about punishing her once in the library. And true, he had helped me that day in the shower house—cared enough to check on me. But that was the act of any decent person that had foreseen what was to come, it couldn't have been an indication of genuine care…even if he _did_ choke up a bit at the sight of my near-bareness outside the shower house.

Though…he was a man, after all. Of course it would entice him.

So I waited, and endured. Lost weight, due to my smaller rationing. And when the day of the haelstrom arrived, I was given more to do than any of the other servants. I was to report to the kitchens—to Astrid—early in the morning, for my assignments.

Clouds hovered over Asgard as though it were any other storm, dark and heavy. I peered up at them worriedly through the Prince's window.

"When will you return?" his voice came from the couches, and I trailed my eyes back down to his emerald gaze—looking him freely in the eye.

"Eleven thirty," I said. "The lock down will take place at noon, when the storm begins."

"Seems a bit late."

I smirked. "Does it?"

He looked up at me. "Something funny?"

"No," I shook my head slowly. "Not at all. You've nothing to worry about, you'll be quite safe up here."

"As will you," he said matter-of-factly. "You're to weather the storm here when you finish your errands."

My brows shot up. "You want me to come back here?" _Instead of the catacombs?_

"I believe that _is_ what I said."

I stared for a moment, a glimmer of warm tension tugging at my chest. "Very well," I agreed, offering a sweet grin as I sauntered toward the couches—in the direction of the door. His eyes shot up as I neared him, flickering down to my smile, and I noticed that they lingered there a bit. "I will hurry back, then," I said, feeling a hint of color licking across my cheeks.

"Be sure that you do," the Prince murmured, lifting a letter from a pile on the couch, and opening it. "You will be here no later than eleven thirty-five."

I stopped. "Eleven thirty-five?"

"Yes. Is there a problem with that?"

Well, no. Only that the immediacy of his demand was endearing, and threatened a broader smile. I'd been assigned to travel out to the docks, to fetch one of our cooks who'd been working there for a time. He and I were to return together, and it would be a long walk across Asgard. The haelstrom was forecasted to begin at noon, and last no more than an hour. Everyone was to be inside by then, and the doors would be locked at noon exactly. The storm would slowly rise to its peak and then dissipate over the next hour—and the palace was set to continue its usual work in the meantime. Behind closed, sealed doors, of course. I wasn't entirely sure why it was so necessary to have this particular cook back in the kitchens during that time, but it wasn't my place to question it.

In tandem with my other responsibilities, I'd anticipated getting back to the castle in time. Arriving at the Prince's chamber would be a simple walk from the gates. So, no—it wouldn't be a problem.

"No," I shook my head, and the grin stretched further across my face. "I'll be here."

The Prince paused for a moment. "_Good._"

I quickly curtsied in response, though he must have only seen it in his peripheral, and I left. Closing the door behind me gently.

* * *

Loki had shared his meals with Aila on a number of occasions, but she'd grown thin again. He could see it—the gauntness of her cheeks. The growing frailness of her hair. Had they not been feeding her enough? Perhaps, if it came to it, he would have a word with the Head Maid—or whoever was in charge. Dead slaves were useless slaves, at most.

And at the very least, they were…concerning.

If this newer management was truly consistent, then Aila wouldn't last very long. The frustration that rose at the thought thought was a nuisance, and he planned to have a talk with her as soon as she returned. Perhaps as they weathered the storm together, with Aila sitting across from him in the small living area of his room. Surely, they were familiar enough for that. For her to confide in him, if there were any misgivings in the change of management.

In the hours that followed Aila's departure that morning, Loki passed the time opening, reading, and responding to letters from noblemen in the city—magicians from foreign realms, even. Such correspondences were always passed his way, and it was either him, or his mother. One of them was to be held responsible for magical affairs—and today, his mother was busy.

So, he waited.

And waited.

And then waited some more…having moved to his desk, to write out his responses.

One glance at the clouds brooding outside his window, and a sliver of concern blossomed a bit. He turned in his chair slowly, checking the time hanging across the room, and creased his brow angrily when he saw that it was eleven forty.

Aila should have been back by now.

She hadn't mentioned where she was going, but perhaps she was delayed—though Aila was always prompt, always planned for his requests. They were a priority.

_So where the hell was she? _Perhaps the kitchen?

Loki stopped, staring at the doorknob for a beat—wondering if he was truly prepared to saunter on down there to find her. To sate his frustration with her untimely tardiness, in a show of intimidation. Perhaps with his hands clasped behind him, and steely gaze searching her out, she would be reminded of her obligation… And he would be sated.

It would be a lesson for everyone—this slave was not to be trifled with, much less delayed.

Who or what delayed her, if that was the case? The new Head Maid? She was never late before, so it might have been serious. Serious enough to disrupt the strict schedule that Asgard ran on during this time—which Aila was a part of. Surely she would have let her superiors know of his demanded change, and would have accounted for it.

That was enough—enough to prompt his curiosity, at the very least. To tear his attention away from the pile of unanswered letters.

A cold wind had swept through the hallways, prickling his skin as he walked. The entire kitchen staff froze when he strode through the door, pointedly glowering at every face in the room. The entire place had been swept clean—as though no one anticipated getting a minute's worst of work done today.

"Where is the Head Maid?" he demanded.

No one spoke for a beat. The slaves kept their eyes on the ground, while the servants looked between themselves. Finally, the cook rose a hand in the opposite direction, having paused from directing crates across the room.

"There, your majesty…" he said earnestly. "The last door on the left."

Loki walked briskly in the direction he'd indicated, following a small hallway that led to a series of rooms. The last one on the left, as the cook had indicated, was open. He strode in unceremoniously, and came to an abrupt stop when he saw the Head Maid at her desk—jaw dropping slightly in surprise.

"P-Prince Loki," she gasped, light blossoming in her eyes as she rose from the chair. "Y-You're here."

He stood awkwardly for a moment, but his sharp mind sprung into action—immediately suspecting that he was facing the cause of Aila's gauntness and exhausted appearance.

This maid had been his bed partner for a night—hardly a good one, at that—he didn't even remember her name. She'd taken a liking to him, that much was obvious, but he'd never asked for it—he had no need of her name. Meanwhile, Aila's sweet face flashed before his eyes, which narrowed with the sinking realization that this woman had been promoted to a position of authority over his slave. The first slave to ever serve the royal family—chosen by Loki himself.

"I'm looking for my…slave," he said tersely. Calmly. "Aila. She hasn't returned to me yet."

He wondered if that last bit was necessary to divulge—if it was necessary to indicate that he…he….

_Cared._

The woman pressed her mouth into a thin line, seemingly at the sound of Aila's name on his lips. Her throat bobbed, but not from disdain—a hint of panic, if nothing else. If the brimming fear in the corners of her eyes had anything to say about it.

"She's not here," the woman ground out.

"Where is she?"

"I-I sent her out to the docks."

"I'm aware of how far you sent her." Loki's voice dropped. "Has she reported back to you yet?"

"No." She shook her head. "Perhaps she found shelter out there."

Unlikely.

The chance of finding shelter given her station was low. Very low. No one would tarnish their homes with the presence of a war slave—especially not at the dock, nor along the road back to the city. That was where the nobility lived. And the peripheral villages were too far to reach in the meantime.

Loki crossed his arms suspiciously. "What time will the docks be closing for the storm?"

"I'm not sure," she answered nervously. "We haven't conferred with them—but I imagine it'd be the same time as the palace, my Prince."

Hadn't conferred with the people she'd sent her employees to? What if they were closed already?

"At noon, then?"

"_E_-_Eleven-thirty…_" The woman blanched as she muttered quietly, casting her eyes away.

Loki stood frozen, rooted in place…tilting his head to the side as he calculated her words, lips parting slowly with realization. It was twenty-five minutes to noon, and the gates were to lock at eleven-thirty—so the gates had locked five minutes ago?

_And…Aila didn't know?_

_"_When will the haelstrom begin?" he muttered lowly.

"_At noon, my Prince…_" Her eyes flickered up to his briefly.

Loki clenched his jaw, brow furrowing furiously as the realization struck him—that this woman sent Aila out into the death void. She would trek back across the city, thinking that the gates would still be open to her arrival. Aila would leave the docks in a timely fashion, to arrive back at the palace, and would be caught outside instead—where none would open their doors to her.

_She'd be outside._

A wave of panic flushed through him, and Loki turned sharply toward the door.

"L-Loki!" the maid called out to him, her voice lilting as though she knew him.

Loki recoiled at the thought of bedding that woman. While he'd enjoyed—marginally—the sound of his name on her lips that night, it was abhorrent now.

He ignored it—regretting even _more_ that he hadn't met with his father and brother earlier that day, to gain this information himself. He'd stayed in his room, with Aila nearby, enjoying the ambient, grey light cast in from the outside world. There had been no need for him to go anywhere, to know anything, for he was safe—the same should have applied to Aila. He was a _fool_ not to be sure. If anything, this was _his_ fault, and he would pay the price—he would find her. He would indulge the panicked dread washing over him. _He would find her before the storm did…_

Even if none of it made sense. None at all, as he barreled down the hallway, away from the Head Maid's office. He would deal with that vile _quim_ later—this was a transgression he would not forget. If Aila died, she would be next.

Loki hadn't realized that he was running—not even as he knocked servants out of the way in the kitchen, darting toward the open door. The one that would soon close, and lock everyone inside, and away from the harshness of the outdoor hallways.

Servants and slaves gasped and flurried in a rush out of his path, and Loki turned sharply at the door—gripping its frame as he flung himself around the corner. There was an archway leading to the outside, towering as tall as the hallway itself. Loki ran toward it as quickly as his legs could carry him, his mind counting every second that he spent on the ground—until he wasn't.

Several feathers had come loose in the sudden transformation. With the swiftest speed, Loki blew past the archway, wings beating wildly as he took to the skies.

* * *

The cook wasn't at the docks…

In fact, there was _no one_ in the streets as I walked back. The docks were closed, and I was alone.

I'd been thinking about it the entire way back—using it as somewhat of a distraction from the eery emptiness of the town. I sauntered beside the Bifrost for a time, feeling the occasional cool wind billowing my clothes about. I'd been expecting other slaves—other servants—to still be out here at this time. There had been a few on my way over.

Or citizens, at the very least… Though I could've sworn I'd heard others being assigned to various tasks, I suppose I might've misheard. Those might've been kept within the palace.

I'd spent a bit more time than I'd intended looking for the cook, and knew I would be late. It was past eleven thirty, but I still had enough time to reach the gate.

The Prince would still be unhappy with me…I was never late.

I hated the idea of disappointing him. Though the thought of his insistence that I stay in his chambers was truly endearing, and it brought a bit of a smile to my face, amidst the solemness of my surroundings. Whether he said it aloud or not, there was no other explanation given or taken for his demand—he wished to have me near, to know that I was safe. And though I absolutely wasn't allowed to harbor such thoughts about a prince of Asgard, I thought he was…sweet.

And perhaps there was no other explanation for his appearance at the shower house. No other explanation than the fact that he cared a bit_. _And perhaps this meant that I could confide in him about Astrid.

The mention of her name in my thoughts dampened my smile, and I sighed heavily, casting my eyes up to the castle. It truly was a beautiful structure—gleaming so elegantly, and towering so high. It made me feel small, and I'd been told that it was built to withstand such an event. Only the weakest, oldest parts of the castle would be scuffled by it—and in fact, it would actually _help_ to identify those places. All would be well, when it was over.

A faint whisper caught my attention, and held it longer than I anticipated—growing louder and louder as I neared the gates. I stepped onto the bifrost and turned, casting a glance up at the sky. At first, my gaze narrowed at the strange fluttering in the distance.

But, then… it widened at the fast-approaching sight of the dark, sparkling cloud wisping about amidst the clouds, stretching down to the bridge some ways away.

It was…_early. _

_Too early!? _

I turned and ran down the rainbow bridge, lungs burning all the way to the gates—which were closed. I stuttered to a stop, feeling my blood run cold at the sight of them. My instincts took over, and I barreled toward them anyway, pounding on them with a fury, calling out for whoever was inside. My fists began to ache after some time, and tears brimmed in my eyes as my head whipped back and forth—seeing the cloud drawing nearer and nearer.

The whistling sound had turned to a horrible rumble, with some indiscernible noise—like a cross between a roaring animal, and the edges of two pieces of metal scraping against one another—piercing the air.

The doors were still locked—_locked—_but that hadn't stopped me before. My blurry vision dropped down to my hands, and I momentarily considered using the seidr to escape, to open the doors like I'd done a million times.

Exposure wouldn't have mattered anymore. I was dead either way.

Though the second I rose my hands, they dropped again—at the flashing image of the open doors, and all the _people_ in side. Guards. Perhaps the royal family—the Prince's family, maybe even the Prince himself.

There was no way to tell. I couldn't risk them dying, I just couldn't.

My eyes darted from corner to corner, looking for safety somewhere else. The haelstrom was known to be thorough—no surface would go untouched—but I needed to find something to keep me safe. _Anything._

I took off toward a small nook beneath the bridge, knowing it was hardly small and closed off enough to protect me, but it was better than nothing. Tears were streaming down my face, and my heart thudded wildly in my chest and ears—I could _feel_ the wind whipping around me. My death approaching. I would be gone from the world in a matter of minutes…For the storm was moments away.

With my feet thudding against the glass, I barely heard the sound of wings flapping just behind me.

A raven squawked, and I turned sharply at the sound. It flew straight toward me in a straight line, spreading its abnormally large wingspan out to tapered its dive. In a flash of green, it transformed, and _Loki_ landed on one knee mere feet away from me—eyes hardened with intentness, focus gripping his face.

_"Loki!?_" I gasped—barely a whisper—in disbelief.

He reached out with one long arm and grabbed my wrist, tugging me toward him as he stood to his full height. Tall and lean and broad and strong, I collided with his chest as he released my hand, and threw his arms out on either side of him. Mine were thrown clumsily around him from the momentum, and my hands clung instantly to the fabric of his clothes—face landing safely in the crook of his neck, with strands of hair caught between myself and his damp neck.

He nearly stumbled back from the impact of my body. Instead, a deafening bubble suddenly ensconced us—a barrier, blocking the noise within seconds of the storm's arrival. I pulled back a little to look at his intent, focused expression, mere inches from my face, and…

Loki's face hardened suddenly, and I yelped as the storm collided with his barrier. Thousands upon _thousands_ of small metal-looking rocks ricocheted all around us, with unparalleled speed and _ferocity_, shredding the plants nearby and cutting into the softer surfaces around us. Nothing was visible around us anymore—only the cloud, and the pale, green glow of Loki's protective shield.

I could have only imagined how painful it would have been, as I threw myself into Loki the minute it hit us—practically hanging off the man in fear. With my forehead pressing against his neck, Loki's heavy breath dampened my already glistening skin—heating the air between us.

I couldn't believe that he was here, and I pulled back a bit to look at him.

Amidst the fear, I couldn't believe that my arms were around him. That my fingers were digging into his leather. That I was close enough to see the stubble on his face, feel his breath fanning my…lips. My teary eyes dropped down to them—_literal inches from my face—_and it was all too easy to take their details, and imagine how they'd feel against mine.

All his muscles were taut, and I couldn't imagine how he was going to keep this up… A sudden jerk of movement, and I was back against him, gripping him tightly.

Why—_why did he do this!?_

Loki grunted, as though in pain, and pushed forward again—drawing me a few inches back, as though he were pushing back on a great weight that bore down on us both. His arms trembled, sending waves of shakiness through the rest of his body. One that forced his knees to bend, his shoulders to falter… I could feel his struggle, his _fear—_and it broke my heart inexplicably.

The tears were rising for a whole different reason, now.

I didn't want him to die out here. I didn't want him to die with me. Whatever happened to someone as insignificant as me, I still didn't want his smile to disappear from the world—or his sarcastic jokes, or his soothing voice. Even if he'd come out here to save me from the same fate, _I didn't want Loki to die._

The decision was instantaneous. I tightened my arm around him once more, while my hand reached up and grappled the other side of his neck, just below his ear. My eyes shut tightly, and I squeezed him with all the focus and resolve that I had—letting my seidr spill into him from every point of contact.

Which was now head to toe. I was molded against him so perfectly in the chaos—and he to me.

Loki let out a choked breath when he felt it—the unbridled warmth of my body seeping into his. I couldn't see his face from where I was buried against his neck, but his breath quaked unsteadily for a moment.

I wanted him to take it—take as much as he needed, if it would save him. Save us both.

Loki was resolved to do just that, and the push of my seidr was suddenly met with a resounding pull. A need that drew from my body, pulling my energy from me almost…_pleasurably. _And while Loki's stance grew a bit taller, a bit stronger, mine faltered with the exquisite pleasure that had inexplicably coursed through me. It was like a feather gliding over one's skin, my seidr was offered and taken from me with an intimate _desire. _

I shifted against his neck, drawing him closer and closer as I nuzzled into it, lips pressing against his skin.

In theory, I knew how long we stood there. The forecast had been an hour—but by the time it passed, it seemed to go by in a blink.

For me, anyway.

As the air around us cleared, Loki finally managed to reel in his arms, while I blinked myself out of the intimate stupor I'd entered—keeping my arms wrapped around him for a time. I was worn out, Loki even more so. He was swaying slightly as his hands came in for a gentle embrace, and I squirmed at the sensitive awareness of his fingers on my back.

His chest was heaving a bit with exhaustion, and in the moment I pulled away, Loki's knees buckled underneath him. His lips brushed over mine briefly, unintentionally, as he slid to the ground. If this were any other time, any other place, I would have focused on the bit of dampness they left behind. But instead, I fell with him, holding him up to the best of my ability.

He was heavy, and his face was pale—sweaty. Even as he brought a hand up to wipe it away, he donned an expression akin to sleep deprivation, and extreme exhaustion.

"I'm alright," he breathed out, waving my hands away weakly. "I'm fine."

"You're _not," _I insisted as I fell to both my knees in front of him, cradling his face in my hands. He appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open, thought his green irises never left my brown ones. "_You came for me,_" my voice trembled with tears, and he looked at me. Kept his eyes fixed on me.

…until they fell to my lips with a heavy blink. He was close enough that I could've merely bobbed my head forward to meet his, but Loki looked away before I could think twice about it. So I subdued the fact that I wanted to take him, pull him into me and hold him, for everything he'd done—all the care he'd given me, up to and including now. I was alive because of him.

He struggled to stand upright, but stumbled back toward the gate anyway—somehow mustering the strength to bang his fist against it.

"Open the gate!" he roared.

* * *

**Longest chapter yet! :D Show me some loooove!**

**For those of you who're also following the Siren's Mark, that story will have the last two chapters posted simultaneously, so that's why it's taking a bit longer. **

**I'm keeping it short today, no character analysis, because I'm exhausted (this week and next week has been/is going to be killer for me). But this is the very first chapter I envisioned when I came up with this story. I loved writing it, and it's not even my favorite. I haven't written my favorite chapter yet, which I think will be the most magical one in the entire book. If you think this is intense, wait til you see what's in store! **

**Thank you to everyone that's left a review. It means a lot, because basically I work 9-5, then rest for an hour at home, study for two more, do my editing job on the weekend (some original work if I have the life blood to spare), and then possibly indulge a little fanfic writing in the evenings. It's temporary chaos, but chaos nonetheless for the next few months. Which is also why chapters typically get posted on weekends. Your reviews remind me to come back to the work, and comprise the sparse happy emails I get in my inbox these days. So thank you guys so much. Til next time. :) **


	8. Chapter 8: Don't Know Why, I Just Do

I stared down at the pheasant breast, still hot on the plate, and then looked up at the cut up tomato slices in the Prince's hand.

"I can't, sir," I said, watching as he lifted one and slipped it between his lips.

"Don't tempt me to rescind the offer," he answered plainly, glancing off into the fireplace."Take it."

I looked back down at the table separating us—myself on one couch, and Prince Loki across the way.

Nearly a day had gone by since he saved me from the haelstrom, and the palace recovered much more quickly than I'd anticipated. And now, instead of setting me loose at my usual chores, Loki had asked me sit and share his food with him.

Which wasn't terribly unusual at this point—save for the fact that today's meal was particularly…unique.

Along with the great, big elephant in the room that neither of us seemed keen to address. Something we hadn't discussed since yesterday.

The plate was warm in my hands as I set it down onto my lap, salivating against my better judgement. I arched a brow at him, "Forgive me sir, but… do you know what this is?"

"_Asgard's finest pheasant,_" he crooned, tossing one leg over the other as he averted his emerald gaze to me, and lifted another slice to his mouth. "Only three servings are made available per year."

And yet one was served to him casually over lunch, because he'd requested it first. "Yes," I said with an inclining grin, loosening my fingers around the plate. "I…can't take it."

"Sure you can," he said, nodding toward me. "Go on, then."

I looked down at it, and then glanced at the fork and knife. "I—" I paused, unable to find the right words.

Loki arched a brow. "You what?"

Grinning demurely, I glanced up at him. In the past, he'd left portions of his meals for me, but I wasn't accustomed to eating them right in front of him. Was I even _supposed_ to use a fork and a knife for this? Or was I supposed to use my hands—in front of him?

"I don't know how to eat this."

"You don't know how to eat pheasant?"

"I…" I paused again, feeling plumes of heat and color licking across my cheeks. "I've only ever eaten…_birds_…" I ground out, inwardly cringing at myself. "…with my hands."

He stared for a moment, eyes narrowed observantly, until an amused grin tugged threateningly on the corner of his mouth. "Use your hands then, Aila."

"But, it's unsightly."

"_You're_ never unsightly," he answered smoothly—his turn of phrase doing _nothing_ for the redness in my face.

I looked down and tugged at one of the steaming legs, smiling a bit. "_Don't tease me._"

Loki smirked. "Then don't argue."

Eating was only mildly uncomfortable after that—after Loki went on picking at the other components of the meal, savings bits and pieces here and there for me. And when we were finished, he sat back against the couch and sighed heavily. I swallowed thickly at his increasingly solemn expression, and set the plate down when I was done.

"Aila, we need to talk about things," he said.

I let out a heavy breath, readying myself for the inevitable. "I suppose so." I looked up at him—no part of me was ready to have this conversation. "I'm just a little—"

"Tell me only what you feel comfortable with," he interjected.

I blinked surprisedly. "W-What?"

Looking into his eyes, I could see the myriad of thoughts whirling around. "I'd obviously like to ask a few questions myself, if I'm to continue employing you," he said pointedly. "But you don't have to tell me anything else."

"Okay…" I breathed out.

Then came the first question, taut and probing. "Who taught you to use magic?"

"My mother," I answered sullenly.

"And where did she learn?"

"She grew up with mentors."

"And what forms of magic have you learned to use?"

"I can only make shapes—''

"—projections," he corrected with a subtle nod.

"Right…and other minors things. Concealing sounds, things like that."

Loki's lip quirked a bit. "Does anyone else know about this?"

"No," I shook my head. "Just you and me, now."

He arched a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Good," he paused. "I'm glad to hear that… I've an offer to make you, Aila. And no one else can know about it."

"What kind of offer?"

The Prince sighed, brows rising matter-of-factly as he leaned in to take more food, "Well can't have you going around with a growing seidr that you don't have the fullest control over. You'll be exposed sooner or later—so, my mother and I would like to help you."

All the heat that'd been in my cheeks suddenly faded, and I grew cold. "T-The queen?"

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"I've only told her that you need our help. I will divulge the rest only when I have your permission." My subsequent breath came out as a shaky whisper, and Loki raised his hand as he sat back. "And I assure you, your secret would be perfectly safe with us. You may or may not ever have use for it, but I'd like to teach you what I can for preventative measures. For your own safety, and for others. That is why you cannot reveal it to anyone outside our company."

I relaxed a little, thinking it all over. "Okay."

I sighed a bit, letting some of the tension pour our. The Prince's emerald eyes narrowed as he studied me for a moment, and nodded slowly. "Alright, good."

"Thank you," I added, and silence passed between us as we stared at each other. "For this, and for yesterday."

His gaze dropped slowly, "Yes, that…" he mumbled as he looked back up at me. "You're welcome." The Prince paused, and I shifted awkwardly for a moment. "And speaking of the queen… In a few weeks' time, we will be going to the mountains. You may join us when the time comes, if you wish," he added.

"To see the wisps?"

"To bring one back."

"Oh." Truthfully… I'd been hoping he'd offer. If nothing else, to warn the wisps—and to warn their company of what was to come. For all they thought they knew about the wisps, their knowledge was marginal. Mother and I had ventured into those woods so many times, that we had seen and learned to interact with the wisps ourselves.

Shy little creatures, they'd really only reveal themselves to a familiar face, and come when called by a familiar voice.

I nodded. "Yes, I'd love to come."

* * *

"You're really taking her everywhere, aren't you brother?" Thor quipped, and Loki looked over at his little serving woman, busying away with preparing their horses. Dressed in warmer attire than usual, to weather one of the sparse snowfalls of the season—attire he'd provided for her. A smidge of comfort in her otherwise harsh conditions.

And, about those… Every now and again, watching her from afar like this had had his blood boiling for the past few weeks.

That Astrid woman—the _fucking _wench that had sent Aila to her death—was _demoted, _of all things_._ Nothing more. Evidently, Aila was hardly considered enough of a person to warrant any punishment against her, and it was deemed that Astrid couldn't be held responsible for the Prince's act of 'self-endangerment.' So, she was demoted. A mere slap on the wrist for her indiscretion—her _lack of good judgement, _that gave rise to the situation from the start.

Loki sighed, glancing at Thor to answer his question. "I offered to bring her, and she wanted to see the forest," he mumbled, handing his brother the canteen he'd been holding.

"Perhaps it was you she wanted to see," Sif chimed in suddenly as she passed by a few feet away, and Loki shot her a look. "Don't think it'll be dangerous to bring her along?"

"She'll be fine," he answered tersely. Loki never liked people questioning his decisions—and lately, he liked their comments and remarks about Aila even less. And he'd been hearing more and more as the weeks went by.

Though that didn't mean that Sif's concern was unfounded. There was said to be a beast guarding the grove of the mountain wisps—in fact, that was to be their marker for finding it, though no one had ever consistently seen the beast before. It was deep in the mountains of Asgard, and only one had ever claimed to witness it.

None of that seemed to deter Aila, however.

She was ever-present these days, always beside him wherever he went. As she should be. And when they disappeared, little did the others know that he'd been secretly been tutoring her. No magic yet, of course—she was to learn the foundations of it first, and spent the last few weeks reading tomes with his assistance.

Literally, at that—since Aila had needed help pronouncing and understanding some of the words. Her literacy was far from advanced, and even she knew it. Loki had sat across from her on his chamber couch on a number of occasions, and every now and again, he took the tome to read it out for her when she'd grown tired.

Aila always asked smart questions, too—inquiring about the meanings of certain words and their implications. The way her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered his answers was nothing short of intriguing. Loki enjoyed the feeling of being listened to.

Though the whole endeavor had its unintended effects. Her eyes, which were made lighter by the glow of the fire, had become haunting. More than once, Loki had dreamed of her the night following a lesson, and found himself in a compromising state upon waking. A quick, cold shower was sometimes the remedy, on the most relentlessly sleepless nights.

On top of that, it certainly didn't help that Loki had admittedly allowed himself too much. Too much time for his eyes to linger over her form—too much room in his mind for sordid images.

He'd begun to feel that familiar, dull ache, which he'd felt since the beginning—when he watched the attractive serving woman sauntering about his chamber. Said attraction was….a nuisance. It was a nuisance then, and a nuisance now. Hell, he'd nearly died because of this incessant attachment, and it didn't help that he remembered clearly how her lips had felt when he'd accidentally brushed against them.

"We're ready to head out," Fandral called back to them all—the Warriors three and the princes. The company included Aila, of course, who had taken a separate horse. Together, they galloped only to the edge of the forest, where they tied their horses and left them behind for the day. Perhaps the night—they'd had plenty of food and water to last them, and were left with some as well.

After that, they trekked for what seemed like hours, moving toward the direction that the last known sighting of a wisp had taken place.

"You're reading that wrong," Loki scuffled with Thor a bit, trying to take the map from his hands. "Hand it over." In the corner of his eye, he saw Aila grin amusedly, her boots crunching in the snow behind them—eyes downcast.

"I'm reading it just fine," Thor insisted, pushing Loki back.

"Will you two stop fighting?" Volkstag huffed from ahead.

"Yes, indeed—we'll find it with or without you doing so," Sif added. "But we'll be doubly annoyed with you doing it."

"He's slowing the rest of us down," Loki argued. "If he'd given the damn thing to me, we would have found the grove already."

Sif and Volkstag exchanged glances. "_Perhaps he's right…_" Loki heard her mumble.

"I _am_ right."

"You haven't shut up since we set off on this trip, brother," Thor muttered annoyedly. "And yet we still haven't found it, have we? We'll return to mother empty handed, at this rate."

Loki dropped his arms at that, and stared at his brother. The rest of the company slowed. "You're ridiculous, do you know that? We _can't_ return empty handed. You know why she needs the wisps."

"No one knows the lighter magics better than they do, I know," Thor said. "She told me. And whatever this cure she's trying to research, I—"

"You understand nothing about it, we're well aware," Loki interjected.

"You won't hurt them will you?" Aila's voice suddenly cut through the banter.

Loki stopped, stepping back from Thor to look at her. The fur of her short vest barely touched her sweeping jaw, and her eyes were neutral as she stared at the ground past the brothers—where the others had stopped and had been looking back at her as well.

"No," Thor answered her. "We've no intentions of hurting them."

"Do you swear it?"

Loki furrowed a brow at the remark—at the _demanding_ nature of it. Not that he would've minded if she'd addressed him that way, but it was concerning to think that she was comfortable speaking to others like that. He couldn't always be there to protect her.

"Yes," Loki said to her. "You have…_my_ word."

Aila raised her chin thoughtfully a bit, keeping her eyes down on the snow, and then suddenly took off on a brisk jog through the woods. Loki saw Thor exchange confused glances with the others, but he took off after her before they had the chance to question it. The others followed after them quickly, shooting subtle questions of '_what's going on?_' and '_where is she going?'_ for the next few minutes that they spent trailing after her.

Loki watched her backside—lingering too long in certain places—and listened to her light steps crunching the snow as she ran intermittently, looked around, and walked.

Until finally, she stopped altogether. They were near a cliff now, not far from where they started—merely a bit higher up. They couldn't see it from where they were, but the trees above their heads revealed the open sky just after the hill. There, there were no more trees. No more mountains. They would be facing Asgard if they hiked to the top.

Aila's waves brushed over the fur as she looked around, and Loki walked over to her from behind. "Aila?" he murmured, laying a hand on her back before he even realized he'd reached for her. She gave no sign of noticing, and merely continued looking around with narrow eyes—until they heard something.

Every last one of them shuddered at the deep, wild growl that cut through the air. With a sudden thump, Loki spun toward the creature slightly downhill of them—an immense beast, resembling a cross between a wolf and a fox, was bearing its teeth at them. He slid in front of Aila instinctively as the others drew their swords, and pushed her back with his arm.

Warm, gloved hands enclosed his bare hand suddenly, and he whipped his head around to see Aila's haunting gaze meeting his briefly—a look of peace and gratitude etched across her features. She lifted his hand up—as though in gratitude—and kissed his knuckles sweetly, before letting his hand go. He only wished it wasn't so apparent that his breathing ceased, as the plumes of fog had ceased with it.

From there, Loki watched dumfounded as Aila briskly walked around the group, emerging before the beast as the others stumbled back.

"What are you _doing!?" _they cried. "Get over here!"

Aila gave them no thought as she slowed her steps toward the beast, and Loki stumbled forward. "Aila—_Aila!_" he cried.

She paid no mind to him either, and Loki paused at the subtle whisper of sound coming from her. A quiet little tune, in a language he didn't recognize. The whole company stood still, holding their breaths as Aila sauntered toward the beast casually—watching in shock as its teeth disappeared quickly with a sniff. It walked toward her in a gentler pace, smelling her hand, and finally sweeping its tail around her as it nuzzled her affectionately.

Aila was smiling. And Loki gaped from where he stood, having barely stumbled ahead of the others. Aila then looked up suddenly—as though sensing something—and turned her head slowly to look up into the trees.

It was then that Loki noticed the subtle glow permeating the space. It was almost evening time, so he was surprised to have not seen them sooner—the multitudes of little white wisps floating down toward Aila. The creature moved away as they descended to her, leaving little trails of light as they went. She held out a hand, smiling broadly and murmuring something indiscernibly as they floated all around her—some lifting strands of her hair up in a gesture of affection.

The scene left the company at a loss of words. The light that the wisps cast on her almost seemed to give her a glow of her own—and every movement, every expression that she made was practically mystical.

It seemed to take Aila a moment to remember that there were others present, and her smile faltered a bit when she noticed them staring. She pressed her lips together, and looked about at the wisps, as though remembering why she was here. One of them floated closer to her, illuminating her features in its ambient light. "I must ask a favor of one of you…"

* * *

The wisp would return with them, and the company had decided to spend the night out in the woods. It would have been a long, arduous walk back to the edge of the forest, and they likely would've gotten lost.

Aila answered little questions here and there about how and what had happened earlier, reluctantly divulging the stories she'd heard as a child. The bits of a broken language that her mother had taught her, and other things that explained her knowledge of their whereabouts. However, she was mum about how she'd actually come to know the wisps, on what was very clearly a personal basis.

"It was my mother," she repeated again and again.

"But how do they know _you?"_ Sif insisted.

"They know me because of my mother," she insisted. "Sometimes we were sent out for our duties, and we'd sneak a bit into the woods, where they were."

"But why would they venture out so far from the grove? We're deep in the woods, as is…"

Loki stared at her intently. They ventured out from the grove, because… _because she was lying_. He could see it clearly—she was lying about how she came to know these creatures.

"Those would be better questions for my mother," she answered, sounding a bit disheartened.

"And where is she?"

"She died," Aila muttered tersely, and the company went silent.

"Oh," Sif breathed out. "I'm sorry."

"As am I, Aila…" Thor added gently. "May I ask, how did she die?"

"I don't know," Aila shook her head. "We couldn't take her to the healing wing. I'll never know what she died of." Again, they went silent.

The fire was dim—almost gone—and she finally sighed, standing with a discontented expression, before anyone could ask her any more questions. "Excuse me, please."

Loki watched as Aila turned and walked over to the small tent that was set up for her. For all that it was cold outside, Asgardian camping gear would keep her—keep all of them—exceptionally warm. As though it were a summer night outside, instead of the tail end of winter. The company went on in quiet whisperings for some time after that, until it was time for sleep. Loki joined them all in retiring to his tent, though the day's events had clung to his thoughts. What was Aila's true story? Would he ever really know?

He laid there for some time, merely staring at the roof of his tent—where the shadows of trees danced over the material, bathing it in moonlight.

Until he heard a noise.

Loki sat up slowly, listening for it again.

Gentle footsteps. Yes—they were… Aila's footsteps, he thought. No, he was sure.

They walked off from the camp, and up the hill. Loki waited for a time to see if she was out on a personal matter, and frowned when she didn't return. He considered going back to bed at first, though the idea of continuing to lay there fruitlessly quickly became the uninteresting option. So he dressed himself back into his camping attire, which was lighter than the others,' and exited his tent.

The night was icy, even more so now that it was late. Aila's footsteps were small in the snow, and glinted where the light of the overhead moon allowed them to, between the shadows of the branches. He followed them up the hill, stopping when he saw Aila beside the cliff overlooking the city. She was standing strangely close to the edge, arms crossed, and was otherwise unmoving. Loki arched a brow at the sight, and something inside him lurched when her foot slowly touched the edge.

"Aila," he said as calmly as he could, and she immediately turned back. The glowing city lights illuminated her features, which struck him the moment she turned.

Her cheeks were wet. Eyes _dead._ None of the earlier mirth and thoughtfulness—simply dead.

"_Sir—I'm sorry,_" she breathed out, unfurling her arms to wipe away her wetness. Loki sauntered toward her, hearing her sniffle as he came up beside her. She sighed, "I'm so sorry…"

Loki slipped his hands into his pockets, watching her as she turned back toward the cliff's edge. His eyes narrowed as he watched her for a moment, studying the depth of her sadness.

"Aila," he murmured. "This is where you used to come with her, isn't it?"

She stopped, and looked up at him reluctantly. "W-What?"

"Your mother," he said. "These creatures didn't venture anywhere—you did. You came here with her, didn't you?"

Aila pressed her lips together tightly, eyes watering again as she nodded. "Yes."

"I won't tell the others."

The ghost of a smile tugged on her mouth. "I know you won't."

Loki watched her for a moment. Her soft, feminine jaw, the unruliness of her light brown locks, the softness of her skin… He was never any good with comfort. Others' suffering brought him pleasure at times, if the circumstances were amusing, but this was certainly not one of those moments. Loki was no good with feelings—only…_questions._

"Tell me about her," he said, and she looked at him. "You haven't told me what she was like."

Aila shot him a confused look. "Y-You want to know about her?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"But…why?"

"Because she produced you," he answered earnestly, grinning a bit. "And I find you simply _fascinating._"

Aila gaze turned ahead absently, without reacting, and her eyes sagged with a heavy emotion. "She was…very protective of me." Aila waited a moment, as though deciding whether the next thing was a good idea to mention. Though her decision was made plain by the sadness overtaking all else in her eyes. "And she never wanted this for me, she…she wanted me to learn the seidr well enough to escape someday."

Tension flickered through Loki's jaw, hindering whatever was left of that grin, and she went on, "She was always telling me to think more of myself than a slave," Aila paused, tears welling again. "But how could I have done that when I was reminded of it every day? Especially in the end, when there was nothing I could do to have her helped, or even seen. There was no greater reminder than that…"

"It wasn't your fault," Loki said after a moment, watching the tears spilling over her cheeks again—though she kept her expression stern. The view must have gotten quite blurry. "If she was anything like you, she deserved better."

"She was just a good person," Aila shook her head, letting loose a few more tears. "And she deserved what any good person did."

Loki swallowed the biting regret that suddenly rose, recalling how he stood by the day that Aila's mother fell at the feast.

"I could have helped you," he said, suddenly unable to look at her. Aila had begged for help, and his apathy had resulted in this moment. "I'm sorry, Aila."

There was silence beside him for some time. No acceptance of his apology, or anything else. With each passing moment, the quiet became more and more gut wrenching, and he nearly turned to walk away from her—away from the scene, and whatever pain he'd added to it. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought that up at all.

All that came was a sob.

Loki stopped mid-turn, and didn't think about it. He looked back at her the moment he heard the sound, seeing how her face was twisted with pain, and stepped back toward her. Her sobs had stifled for a moment from shock as he pulled her in to a loose embrace, but they soon resumed quietly as she wrapped her arms around his backside. Loki rested his chin against the side of her head, and every now and again, he felt the brush of her crying breath lifting up against his skin.

And… it was strange. As he gazed out into the city, Loki furrowed a brow at how exponentially his heart had begun to beat against his ribs—loud enough for her to hear it, surely, which prompted him to pull away.

He was led by instinct alone, at this point, and stopped upon seeing the pain in her face. Loki felt his own expression sinking, brows creasing together painfully as he looked down at her. Aila had been looking everywhere except at him, and his hands found themselves on either sides of her neck. The gesture was warm, affectionate, and it only drove her into more tears as her hands gripped his forearms.

"Don't cry," he murmured. "Please."

Finally, she looked at him. Stared him right in the eyes, and the barest hint of a smile touched her lips—she herself was clearly trying to swallow the remaining tears.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, wiping away a stray tear that had run down to his hand.

"Don't be." He shook his head. Loki brushed away the other tears that were a lost cause, stopping them before they too reached halfway down her cheeks. While all the while, Aila stared up at him without flinching at his touch.

Loki grinned slightly. "You don't recoil from me."

She seemed distracted enough for the tears to slow, and her smile grew as she cast her gaze to the side, letting out a breathy chuckle. "I don't think I ever have."

Aila's eyes widened a bit as Loki's legs carried him closer to her, and she looked back up at him.

He murmured quietly, brushing her cheek once more as he leaned in slowly. "Why is that, I wonder…"

She didn't have time to answer. And there was nothing in him that wanted to wait. Loki's breath ceased as he pulled her closer, and she stumbled into him clumsily—her breathing was far more shallow—and closed her eyes as he slated his lips over hers.

Because he wanted to. There were no inhibitions between them in that moment—it wasn't the time for rationalizations and thinking. Her skin was exceptionally warm in this winter air, and Loki accepted it, however strange it was that _this_ conversation had been the one to lead to it. The subtle, smacking sounds of their lips—how many times had he imagined what it would sound like? How many times had he imagined the softness of her skin? The gentle breeze of her breath now fanning his cheeks?

Loki's hand trailed up to her hair, pulling her in to him more and more—all thoughts of the day forgotten with each passing moment.

His other hand trailed over her chest and down to her waist, and she squeaked a bit when he tugged her closer to him—responding as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Loki tried to pull away for a moment, to _breathe,_ and his lip caught slightly between her teeth as he did.

His eyes widened as he stared down at her, and as did hers. As though they were thinking the same thing—_the prince and the slave._ What in the hell did they think they were doing? Aila hadn't even blinked in the seconds that passed, though her expression was unchanged—as though she too, was suddenly unsure of where this was going.

…_perhaps it was going toward that tree just behind her._

Eyes weighing heavily, Loki felt the atmosphere overtaking him. The more he looked at her, the more beautiful she was.

Aila stumbled as Loki pushed her back, lips slating over hers once more—more passionately, this time—and she gripped him tighter as he shoved her against the tree. Now led by instinct alone, Loki invaded her mouth, relishing her quiet moan as his tongue brushed against hers, her hand tightening in his own hair this time. And when her body bent into his, Loki felt the brush of her leg against his, and took it as a chance to hoist her up before him.

Aila gasped with shock as she slammed back into the tree, and smiled as he leaned in to her.

He couldn't think—couldn't see anything beyond where his lips where, where his _tongue_ was, in that moment. Arousal coursed through him, and he was all too eager for it. Loki pressed against her without regard for the already-painful tightness in his trousers, and he let his heart beat as wildly as it was. Let his hands grip her thighs tightly as they locked around his waist. She didn't give the slightest hint at relenting, and Loki wondered just how far this would go in the next few moments—

She pulled away suddenly, legs unhinging from behind his back. Her mouth was upturned in an embarrassed smile, and Loki—slightly dazed—recognized the glow on her face, turning back to see the entourage of wisps descending on them once more.

And just like that, they were being watched.

Aila brought her hands up to her cheeks and laughed—and then laughed some more. As unpleasant as the interruption was, Loki still managed to grin at the pleasant sound.

"Alright," he murmured amusedly as he stepped back, awkwardly wiping at his damp lower lip. "I'll just…leave you to this."

Aila merely glanced up at him, and then at the ever-approaching wisps as he turned and trailed back down the hill. With one last glance, an immense satisfaction swept over him at the bright, mirthful smile sprawled across her face.

* * *

**I was wrong, this is the longest chapter. Sorry it came out a bit late, I had a guest all of last week so I didn't get the chance to get much work done. I also can't believe all the support and encouragement I've been getting for this story, I'm so thrilled that you all like it so much! I literally just casually sat on the train and contemplated this chapter every single day before writing it... and it's still not my favorite one. ;) I'll let you guys know when we get there. **

**Thank you so much to every last one of you. I try to drop hints of what's to come in most of my chapters, and every now and again, one of you catches it-I have the smartest readers! :) Thank you all for reading, and thank you for favoriting/following and reviewing. It means a lot to me, and I hope you enjoyed this development in Loki and Aila's relationship! Poor Loki, doesn't quite understand why he's feeling what he's feeling-only knows that he just "does." Til next time!**


	9. Chapter 9: The Things We Know

The following morning, I awoke feeling…odd. Neither upset nor happy. Simply neutral—as though I'd suddenly had room in my heart to appreciate the simplicity of the snow glistening on the treetops, the freshness of the morning air sweeping through me like a cleansing force. As I crawled out of my tent, I saw that the others had awoken already—Loki among them. And when they said hello, Loki's eyes lingered a bit before looking away, warmed by a slight grin that graced his features.

Save for the occasional '_watch your step' _and sidelong glance, we didn't say much to each other while the others were present, though Loki did trail beside me for the rest of the trip. Which earned us the occasional glance, but no one mentioned how he no longer strode in front of me.

Hours later, I sprawled over my bed and contemplated things—namely how all of Loki's kind words and gestures over the past few months had paled utterly in comparison to last night's affection. The thought alone made me smile, my thoughts trailing absently to other places as I lay there…

"Aila?" I jumped suddenly, my eyes flying open to the sight of Davos situating himself down in the middle of the bed—brown hair slightly longer, and wilder than usual. He grinned as his eyes flickered down to my flushed cheeks, "What were _you_ thinking about?"

"Nothing important," I shook my head as I sat up.

"If it makes you smile like _that_, it must be important."

"It's nothing—nothing I want to talk about anyway," I responded as kindly as I could.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. "Well, we don't seem to talk these days at all anymore."

"I know. It's neither of our faults, I've just been occupied well into the evenings—you know that."

"Right," he nodded a bit sullenly. "Since you started working for the lesser Prince."

I frowned. "Please don't call him that, Davos."

His brows shot up. "What? You've called him that yourself on many occasions—just last week, even."

"Well, now I don't."

It was easy to see the bit of darkness slowly clouding over his expression. "Aila…" he muttered darkly. "Why do you care all of a sudden?"

I shrugged. "Is it so strange to be bothered by someone insulting the man I work for? He's been good to me, you know that as well."

"I do," he nodded, "You're lucky enough to have a harmonious bond with the man you serve, but there are boundaries—"

"I'm well aware, Davos," I interjected curtly. "I know where the lines are. I haven't crossed any."

He arched a brow suspiciously. "I wasn't suggesting you had already."

In fact, I _had_ crossed a line just twenty-four hours ago—and I would do it again. Anger pulsed through me as I rose. "I don't want to talk about this. Come, we have the dinner to attend to, and I must change."

"Aila," Davos ground out, and I stopped, half-turnt toward him. The sad, solemn look etched in his expression softened me a bit. "Please don't run from me when I try to talk to you. I will always be your friend, first and foremost. I won't condemn you for anything—I only want you to be safe."

Guilt replaced the anger, and I looked down at the ground before his feet. He was right—Davos had only ever proven that he wanted what was best for me. Whatever it was that came over me, I felt guilty for it—though, not nearly guilty enough to fully explain why. Even I didn't understand my own defensiveness completely. Perhaps it was anxiety, some deeply rooted instinct telling me that last night was a mistake against my own safety. Perhaps my heart stepped in to fight—to defend—the kiss when he implied it.

Davos didn't seem like he intended to push me any further. Knowing him as long as I had, I knew he sensed that something was off. Though we both knew that trying to force me to speak would prove fruitless, and likely have the opposite effect. So he didn't push me—not as he stood and came in for a quick embrace, and not as he ushered me away to prepare for the dinner.

Loki would not be in attendance this evening, but his mother would—not that I would see her. The servants would be caring for her company, and a select few slaves were chosen to set up the rest of the hall that evening.

I was the only woman chosen among the group of male slaves—all carrying the heavy chairs to the room, and climbing up with heavy lamps to decorate the hall. Even though Astrid was demoted, traces of her position remained, and this was one of them. I'd nearly slipped on the ladder at some point, and the nearby guard had clearly grown tired of my _incompetence…_it was sheer luck that Davos had managed to finish his task, and rushed over to help with mine. The overseeing guard backed off when he saw that the work would be finished, though not without a threatening quip.

I scowled bitterly when I turned away, and the rotting feeling stayed with me until we were finished. It was late, and I was positively exhausted. Even back in the kitchen, as I gnawed away on the stale bread that was left for me—another one of Astrid's 'changes' that hadn't been reversed—I was damn near tears. All this was supposed to end once she was gone, but I couldn't say anything. The complaint alone could be costly.

If there weren't other people around, I _would_ have cried. From hunger, from exhaustion… Though that would have led to an onslaught of questions from the other slaves, and the servants might have complained—another costly consequence.

"Still enjoying that, are you?" A familiar voice came from behind me as I leaned against the countertop.

I turned my head slowly, recognizing both the voice and the skirt. Astrid. She'd been trailing behind the new Head Maid, who seemed to spare a glance before she continued onward. Everyone else in the kitchen had turned and glanced at us—most of them continuing on with their business in the meantime.

None, save for the two of us and the Prince, knew what Astrid's issues were with me. A favorite of the royal family, the rumors said. No one among the slaves had an inkling of the truth—I hadn't told anyone after all, though there was no telling what Astrid had told her peers.

I turned back to the table, willing myself to let it go.

"_Aila,_" she ordered again, but I ignored it. I was already tired and upset—no need to tempt the ire further.

A hand suddenly grasped my shoulder, and tugged me back harshly enough for me to drop the bread. I stared down at it on the ground, frustration rising at the thought of not having anything else to eat until tomorrow. Our long trek that morning hadn't earned me any additional food, and while Loki would likely share one meal with me, most likely, every ounce of food mattered—I hated the idea of not getting enough from what he offered me. Now, I would be that much more hungry.

Astrid kicked it away, and the kitchen went silent. The guards watched from the doors that the Head Maid had gone through, shifting slightly at the disturbance. I tried to step away, and she stood in front of me instead.

An unsettling grin tugged at her lip. "I've been demoted, you know," she hissed quietly—perhaps only loud enough for the two of us to hear—and her feminine voice was laced with a thinly veiled aggression. "Because you've somehow gotten someone to give half a shit about you."

Panic bloomed in me, and I tried again to squirm away from her—but she didn't let me. She stepped in closer, further locking me against the table. "What is it about you that has him so vexxed?" she crooned, and I gasped when she reached up and gave my hair a tug. "You're not even pleasant to look at—can't be that much better without your clothes on."

I was starting to see red, and I dared a glance up at her shoulder as I tried to push away. "_Leave me alone_, Astrid."

"Or what?" she mused. "Are you going to go run and tell your Prince? Tell him that someone's been terrorizing his little bed ornament? We already saw how _that_ played out, didn't we?" We did—absolutely _nothing_ happened to her. "He's really proven something by choosing you, perhaps his own idiocy for thinking that you could ever satisfy him the way a _woman_ could…"

My hands clenched into fists, a headache raging between my temples—sending bolts of pain up my neck as I tensed more and more. "_I said, leave me alone…_" My own voice had begun to tremble.

"Tell me, does he ever talk about me?" she murmured quietly, close enough that I could feel her breath on my cheek. "Does he ever mention how our evening had satisfied him? How he hissed my name in a moment of ecstasy?"

_He didn't know your name._ I was almost tempted to say it—the vile combination of jealousy and disgust had practically demanded it.

"…but then again, what would the lesser Prince know to say, anyway? He's thrown his own intelligence in question, proven hardly deserving of more than something like _you_ can offer."

My hand flew through the air before I'd even realized it, striking her hard enough to send her back a few feet, crashing into the table. Gasps erupted, and I merely stood there, wide-eyed, with my hand still in the air. Fear crept in, blooming wildly at the grin that Astrid wore as she turned back to me slowly.

"Guards!" she suddenly screamed, and movement flurried. Panic and terror shot through me, and I bolted across the kitchen, weaving through the crowd of people—as though there was somewhere I could've escaped through. The offices at the end of the hall? Those were for the servants, I'd drop from the window and die if I tried to escape through there.

I tried to reach the door, jumping around the tables and darting between others who stood watching, but I was caught. Hands clamped down harshly on my shoulders and arms, bending them in ways they shouldn't be bent. I screamed out and cried, mostly in fear of what was about to come.

Attacking a servant, was…_severe_.

How could I have been so foolish? Exhaustion and hunger was no excuse—how could I have done this? Where did I even find the _nerve? _None of it mattered, now. None of it mattered as I fought the guards vehemently—tugging and pulling and crying out in protest as they dragged me away. I screamed and cried, but only the other slaves looked at me—wetness reddening some of their eyes. The servants stared on blankly, though pity did grace _some_ of their faces.

They all knew what was coming.

* * *

Something pulsed through Loki, rousing him as he sat up from his bed.

Something wasn't right…

It was nighttime already, but he wasn't expecting Aila to return—she'd had another assignment for the evening, and was to return to the catacombs afterward. He'd been sleeping peacefully until that sharp instinct tore through him, urging him that something was awry—but with whom? Obviously his first thought was Aila—nothing within the palace walls posed a threat to anyone else that mattered. His mother and father could take care of themselves, as could his brother, and anything that threatened them would have made itself known to all.

_Investigate_, the instinct urged him, and he stood from his bed. Loki quickly slipped into a pair of pants and boots, and threw a heavy robe over his bare back—barely tying it as he threw open the door and walked out. But where? He paused and continued intermittently, wandering around the hallways, trying to get a glimpse of that instinct again.

Dread had filled him, and annoyance topped it off at his utter inability to discern its source.

"Loki?" He turned sharply, seeing his mother just down the hallway from him, surrounded by her handmaidens. "What are you doing here, so late in the evening?"

He might've asked her the same thing, had he not known about the dinner with her friends. That was what Aila was called away for. "I…don't know," he shook his head. "Something roused me from sleep, and I haven't discerned what it was."

Two of the handmaidens exchanged a quick look, while the queen looked on. Loki furrowed a brow slightly at them as Frigga spoke, "It'll do you no good to wander about like this, go back to sleep and see how you feel in the morning."

"Perhaps," he mumbled, watching as one of the girls glanced at the other. "Is Aila alright? How did she seem tonight?"

"I didn't see her," Frigga turned to her handmaidens. "She must have gone back to the kitchens—didn't she, girls?" All three of them—tall and willowy—fell silent, gazing at the queen perturbedly. Frigga frowned. "…Didn't she?"

Finally, the middle one answered after a moment of silence. "Aila was in the kitchens, yes, but…"

The queen arched a brow. "But what?"

"But there was a…confrontation earlier this evening, we heard about it from someone."

A nervous knot formed in Loki's stomach. "What kind of confrontation?"

"They said the lady Astrid was chastising her, and…Aila struck her."

"_She did what?"_ His voice came out as barely a whisper. A transgression like that…

"Why on Earth would she do such a thing?" the queen inquired incredulously.

"Our friend heard semblances of what lady Astrid said," the maiden looked back at her, "She was addressing your youngest in a disrespectful manner. The guards took her away…"

Anxiety and ire twisted in Loki's chest. Ire at Aila's foolishness—her utter disregard for her own safety, in the face of such a trivial thing, and anxiety for her current state. Wherever she was, there wasn't a chance this didn't go unpunished—if they were harsh enough, she could already be….

_No._ He refused to think it.

Loki turned and strode down the hallway.

"Loki!" his mother called for him, and then quickly dismissed her handmaidens before coming after him. "Where are you going?"

"I have to find her," he growled.

"You don't have to do anything—"

"I _have_ to find her!" he cried, stopping mid-stride, and Frigga stopped just beside him—glaring up at her son.

"But,_ why?_"

"Because, I—" he paused, lips parting and closing as he tried to find the right words. "She's been good to me, and I care for her wellbeing! Is that a crime?"

"It very well could be," Frigga muttered lowly.

Now wasn't the time to contemplate the implications. Loki shook his head and walked away, murmuring to himself, "I must find her."

"I'm coming with you." Frigga's footsteps came up behind him.

"What? No—"

"Where are you going to look first, son?" She raised a brow at him knowingly. "Have you any idea where to start? Do you know _anything_ about how the guard is trained to handle such matters?" He stared at her. "I didn't think so. Now come," she strode ahead of him, "Let's go."

Loki paused, feeling the anxiety taper off from the strength of his mother's resolve. "Where?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "The catacombs."

He followed after her. There were no disguises this time, no masks or anything else to hide their identities. Two guards had followed them down into the humid hollows of the catacombs, and everything looked just the same as Loki appraised it—the same, yellow glow of the torches, and worn furniture. Everything was just as filthy as he remembered it. Some of the slaves were sleeping, while others roused from the sudden disturbance in the halls.

Loki stuttered to a stop at the sight of one of the small beds, nestled against the far wall. There were clothes lying atop it, and their blood-red stains were bright and large enough to be seen where he was standing. His breath deepened, eyes widened as his hands clenched into fists.

_Calm._ He needed to remain calm, despite the images flooding his mind—of Aila wearing that gods forsaken uniform. Of her being tortured and mutilated enough to stain them so badly. Loki turned his head sharply, and approached the very first slave that fell into his sight—a young woman, frightfully pale, who recoiled at his approach.

"Aila, the slave woman," his baritone voice came out as a slight growl. "Do you know her?"

The girl nodded.

"Do you know where she is?"

She looked up at him, sucking in her gaunt cheeks—which only made her blue eyes that much bigger. That much more unsettling. She scurried away without really giving an answer, and Loki exchanged glances with Frigga before following after her, matching her pace as she led them down several halls.

Near the turn of a corner, Loki's breath hitched in his throat at a piercing scream. Dirt kicked up as he came to a stuttering halt. His mother stopped beside him, eyes equally wide with shock. They exchanged reluctant glances before continuing onward, into the next room. Which must have been something of an infirmary, and the source of the scream was immediately placed by another one—which was evidently enough to knock the screamer unconscious.

She lay at the far end of the cavernous room, her face nearly white with paleness, and her usual attire was abandoned for a short tunic that allowed for proper dressing of her wounds.

…of which, there were _so_ many. He couldn't possibly count. And he didn't want to—Loki was rooted in place, unable to look away at the splinted, gashing wounds covering Aila's body. Streams of dried blood covering her limbs. Frigga's breath came out as a tremble beside him, and it only took a moment for everyone in the room to realize they were present. Moments more for them to step away, even the person who seemed to be caring for Aila's wounds. Only one remained—the young man kneeling beside her, stroking her hand, who merely looked back at the two of them from across the room.

Loki recognized him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered in that moment. Nothing else was being registered as he approached her, falling to one knee beside the bed.

"Aila?" he murmured, laying a hand on her head, and stroking her hair. "_Aila?" _

"She's been in and out," the man said tersely, and Loki looked over at him—straight into his unyielding gaze.

"Why hasn't she been seen by a healer!?" Loki ground out.

"We don't have that privilege," the man muttered bitterly, and only then Loki see the tinge of wetness lining his eyes. It reflected a bit of the torchlight when he looked back down at Aila, and brought her hand up to his lips.

"_No…" _Loki shook his head, and stood—reaching with one arm under her knees, and the other carefully around her shoulder.

"W-What are you _doing?_" the man rose with him.

"I'm taking her to the healers." Loki turned with Aila in his arms. Frigga stood near the entrance, still seemingly unable to fully digest the scene.

"Didn't you hear what I said!?" the man said daringly, and Loki shot him a glare over his shoulder.

"I heard you _fine_," he scowled, and stormed off before the man could get another word in, passing by Frigga on his way out. "Come, mother."

The queen nodded faintly, but stared back at the bed where Aila had been laying. Loki stopped. "Are you alright?" She nodded again, and Loki frowned. "Take her to her chambers," he said to one of the guards.

Frigga's head turned toward him sharply. "What? No, no I'm alright—"

"You're not alright," he muttered. "Go. I will deal with this."

One glance at the young girl, and Frigga had to look away—nodding just briskly enough to suggest that Loki made the right call.

He didn't wait for her to argue as he stalked back through the catacombs. Aila felt so small in his arms, so light—but of course she did, she'd hardly eaten for several weeks, because of that woman. And that _woman…_ He'd had enough. She was as good as a dead woman walking. One way or another, Loki would take this matter into his own hands.

He walked quickly, trying to reach the healers as fast as he could. Naturally, there was a great deal of protest—about the slave's ability to pay for the treatment, if nothing else.

"_I will pay for it,_" he argued again and again, assuring them that _he_ would pay the 'advanced' cost for the care of a slave. Which allowed her to be properly cleaned and clothed in better attire. A white dress that ended at her knees, and a soft, white robe to cover her shoulders

"Three thousand gold pieces," the healer muttered when they were finished, and Loki glared at her.

"Three _thousand," _he repeated bitterly, and the woman nodded. "Yet you refuse to watch her for the night—what services rendered could yield such an extravagant cost?"

"I understand your objections, my lord," the healer insisted earnestly. "I _truly_ do—but these are our laws. The laws of the Allfather. It's unorthodox to have a slave here at all."

"What am I to do with her, then?"

"Allow her to rest somewhere," the healer said, and approached him with a handful of small tablets. "Her surface wounds have healed, but she will be in great pain until the process is finished. Have her take these tonight if she wakes, they will also help with the pain." Loki eyed the tablets as she turned and strode away, giving him a final look over her shoulder. "I truly am sorry."

The glare he gave her must have been icy, and it turned to discomfort when she was gone. Silence hardened throughout the room, and he looked over at Aila, still lying on the table—barely moving. His boots echoed through the room as he shuffled toward her, gently lifting a strand of hair from her face.

It seemed so simple that day in the woods. He hadn't thought ahead nor behind when they shared that moment—her hot mouth colliding with his, pressing her against the tree. It felt so damnably good, that he'd forgotten how fragile it all was. How fragile _she_ was, and vulnerable to persecution. This person, who was neither treated nor viewed as such in his own home. He was powerless to stop this happening to her.

_There was no greater reminder…_Aila's words from that night suddenly echoed in his mind.

Her mother's death was the greatest reminder of her station—of her place in this world. It felt the same right then, with no relief to the sting in sight.

Loki brushed his fingers over her cheeks, wondering when he had begun to care for her so much. It all started with him, with a harmless curiosity, and now…its only end was with him.

She winced a bit when he bent down to lift her again, though the medication kept her asleep. "There, now," he murmured quietly, trying to distribute the pressure of his arms where he thought it wouldn't hurt her.

Aila would be fully healed by morning, but she wouldn't be returning to the catacombs tonight.

* * *

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept so soundly. So _comfortably._ And when the morning light poured over my eyes, I opened them slowly, registering the softness of a pillow beneath my head—the pressure of a thick blanket comforting me wholly. If not for that, I would've had a moment of panic at not knowing where I was. And I might've sat up sharply, if not for the soreness I still felt all over my body. Instead I rose slowly, steadily scanning the familiar surroundings.

I paused the moment I realized just where I was—the Prince's chambers. His bed. _I was in Loki's bed._

I turned my head sharply, seeing the pillow missing from the other half of the bed. The subtle aroma of fragrant spices lifted from the covers at the sudden movement, and it took one look about the room to notice the pillow lying far off on one of the couches—where Loki lay atop it. With one leg bent against the back of the couch, his arms were crossed over his chest.

As I stared at his sleeping form, I spent a moment combing through whatever I remembered from the day before: Astrid, the guards, and… barbed whips that damn near clung to my flesh.

I shuddered a bit, shaking my head to purge the image from my eyes.

Loki seemed well asleep as I took in the peacefulness for a moment, wondering what had actually transpired in the time I was unconscious. It was like falling asleep—my vision had gone black with tiny little blotches, and my own blood was the last thing I'd seen. Now there was a vast, white blanket strewn before me.

My eyes darted down to my body next, and I felt around for remnants of the punishment—feeling only the familiar scars that I'd collected from lesser ones over the years.

I looked over at Loki, feeling thankful for the robe that covered the lot of them. Had he put it on me himself? Had he…changed my clothes? Heat flushed through me at the implication alone, though I quickly deduced that it couldn't have been the case. I was healed, which meant that I had somehow ended up in the healer's wing. They must have done it.

Which also meant that…he must have taken me. Who else would do it, after all? Who else would, or _could_, carry the encumbering expense of healing a slave?

Warmth spread through my chest, and my legs slid out from the blanket before I even realized that I was moving. I tugged the robe more tightly across my chest and sauntered toward him, kneeling beside him on the ground, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His beautiful features lay utterly calm, and I reached out to take his hand—deciding against it at the last moment. I didn't know how long he was awake last night—let him sleep.

I smiled a bit as warmth tightened in my chest. Warmth, and embarrassment at needing to be helped _again. _

My eyes trailed back around the room, and I rose slowly to walk away from him. I'd gone through and tidied this space up so many times, yet it still felt different—as though I were looking at it through another set of eyes. Ones that weren't looking for something to clean. Instead, they were seeing traces of Loki just about everywhere. His books were perfectly aligned, furniture carved and aligned in a way that allowed the perfect amount of natural light to pour over his bed—where he often sat to read. Where I'd slept last night.

I sat back on the edge of the mattress, sliding my feet under the blanket as I smiled—enjoying it just a bit longer. Loki slept here every night, which must have explained his seemingly perpetual _glow_. He had to be so well-rested.

"Aila?" I flinched at the sound of my voice, seeing Loki rising slowly from the couch.

The flurry of movement almost roused a giggle as he rubbed his brow, stood from the couch, and stumbled into the table all in one go. He appeared almost as though he were drunk, as he approached me. I smiled up at him as he sank onto the mattress by my feet, rubbing the sleep away from his reddened eyes.

I reached out to take his hand, but he moved it away. I frowned a bit…Had he done that on purpose? "Loki, I'm-"

"Don't," he shook his head, "Don't say you're sorry."

"I was going to say that I'm confused, but glad to see you," an apologetic grin tugged on my lip, "And then I was going to say that I'm sorry. Or ask for an explanation, maybe—I really don't remember anything at all after…" I paused. "Well, I suppose know…"

Loki nodded slightly, staring down at the ground tiredly. "You needed a healer after...what transpired. And then you needed a place to rest," he explained dryly, and a bit more sullenly than I would have anticipated.

I nodded. "Well, I'm grateful—you could've brought me back to the catacombs, and-"

"You know damn well I couldn't have done that," he interjected a bit tersely, and I frowned. Less at his tone, and more at the tire in his eyes.

It struck me then, how _exhausted _he looked, and it was because of me. The thought alone sent a wave of guilt sweeping through me. As kind as the morning was to me, clearly it was the prelude to a difficult day for Loki—after what appeared to be a very sleepless night.

"Okay," I murmured. "Well, I don't remember what happened last night…"

"You were punished severely for a confrontation with one of the servants," he said. I remembered that part all too well. "Though I don't know what possessed you to do such a foolish thing."

I pressed my lips together. "It happened so quickly, I didn't even realize what I'd done until it was over."

"Well now, that doesn't matter anyway, does it?" he murmured, shaking his head. "None of it does. And I-I can't say I'm angry with you."

"Really?" I answered incredulously. "It sure seems you're feeling _something_ to that effect right about now…"

He paused for a moment, pointedly avoiding my gaze. "It's not what I'm feeling, but what I know that matters."

"And what do you know?"

He blinked a few more times, eyes narrowing with a heavy thought. "I know that you cannot continue in my employment."

My throat tightened. "…_What?_"

Loki exhaled through his nostrils, poised as ever, with a momentary show of frustration as he ran his hand through his hair, and then looked back at me—wearing a mask of neutrality. A mask of calm, if not disappointment. Nothing like what I'd seen from him just two nights ago. There was none of the care and softness he'd looked upon me with—none of the lidded heaviness and desire in his eyes, when his mouth was slated and writhing over mine. There was nothing but ice.

"This is your notice, Aila," he said. "You will not be continuing in this position. My protection will extend to you through the rest of your days, I will make sure that the guards are aware of that. But at the turn of each day, whatever misfortune that has befallen you has been because of this arrangement—so I am terminating it."

"_No,_" I shook my head, and tension flickered through his jaw as he blinked away. "I don't want you to—I don't _need _you to."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter." He answered dryly as he stood, facing away from me for a moment. "You're welcome to stay here for the day, as long as you wish. You may continue your practices with the seidr as you see fit, and ask me questions in private when they arise. But starting tomorrow, you are dismissed from your duties to me."

"_No,_ Loki, I—" I reached for his hand, but he tugged it away the moment my fingertips brushed his. "The other night, we…we…_" _

He tensed, and then looked back at me, sporting an unsettling calmness. "We shared a momentary lapse of judgement," he said pointedly. "I am a Prince of Asgard, and you are a slave. Beyond this day, you would do well not to think of it again."

Tears filled my eyes as I watched him stalk across the room, taking one of the long overcoats off one of the couches and throwing it over him. Suddenly the bed was far less comfortable. The soreness had returned with full strength, as did the headaches. And when he disappeared around the threshold of the door, the thud of its close echoed through the empty chamber.

* * *

**Betchya didn't see that coming.** **This chapter was difficult to write, I really don't like imagining any of my characters in excruciating pain. Or any characters in any story in general, not even the bad ones. It really takes a toll on me. Astrid's vile scheme was also rough, I felt gross just typing it out-but knowing I felt gross, I imagined how Aila felt. I would've snapped too.**

**As for our lovebirds... When I first wrote this chapter, I ended up deleting and changing a lot of it. I wanted there to be some kind of sensual bit when Loki carried her back to his room, but that just didn't feel right no matter the angle I tried to take. When I realized that there's no way in hell that Loki wouldn't start blaming himself for everything that happened to her, that's when the words started literally pouring onto the paper. It's my little way of gauging what my writer instincts are telling me-scenes that don't belong tend to come out of me at a turtle's pace. **

**Anywho, thank you all for reading and reviewing. It means so, so much, and keeps me coming back to this on a consistent schedule. After the last chapter, for DAYS, I had the hilarious image of Loki rolling around in snow because he didn't have access to a cold shower lol (thank you SoS). My writer brain "went there," and the look on Aila's face stumbling into him was hilarious. His face was doubly amusing. This chapter was on the heavier side, but I hope it gave you guys the feels all the same. Til next time :) **


	10. Chapter 10: A Feather of a Reminder

I avoided eye contact with Loki in the weeks that followed my dismissal.

Hel, I treated the Prince as though he were a total stranger. At first, it was difficult—anger and guilt had warred within me for the first week, but forced apathy set in a time later. With careful rationalization, I embedded within myself that this was a stark reminder of where we stood—as Loki had put it—that he was a Prince of Asgard, and I was a slave. Nothing more.

Though of course, that didn't leave me a bitter fool. I understood why Loki did what he did. Driving me away from the would-be source of all the 'misfortunes' that had befallen me, as he put it.

"_Ask me questions when they arise…"_ he'd offered the last time we spoke. True enough, I continued on with my practices with the seidr, but I didn't bother him with questions. In truth, I had no desire to speak to him at all. There wasn't a single thing that I could think of to be exchanged between us, that would remedy what happened. The onset of intense sadness was also telling—I hadn't realized just how much I'd grown to care for the Prince until that day, when I faced the reality of being expelled from his presence. I hadn't cried harder than I did that first night.

One thing he had accomplished, at the very least, was that his promise of protection had created ripples throughout the period that followed. Among the guards, at least, I'd seen it out of the corner of my eye—one stopping the other stepping toward me when I dropped a heavy crate. It did not preclude me from harsh punishments, but minor things were now forgiven. It was a small piece of the burden removed, at the very least.

Loki's protection at work.

My distancing from the royal family also did me some kind of a favor at least, as it'd become marginally less difficult to avoid Astrid like the plague.

_Marginally._

I simply didn't travel in the same circles anymore. Though on nights like this, it was difficult to gauge who I would and wouldn't encounter.

Three of Asgard's central families had reserved a night in the palace—a categorically small number, but their members managed to fill the entirety of the second largest banquet room in the palace. It was neither an extravagant event nor a modest one, due to the fact that the royal family was not formally obligated to attend, so a number of slaves were assigned to work the event itself.

The evening cemented a suspicion that had begun to rise in the time that passed. That Davos and I—among some of the other younger slaves—were carefully selected by pleasing appearance alone. We were the approximate height, figure, and age of most of party-goers these days, as were the other servants. It was a strange system to my mind, and if proven correct, had me wondering what would become of me when I finally aged—many, many hundreds of years from now.

I sighed as I looked down at the food tray in my hands.

To spend _hundreds_ of years in this state…carrying food I could never touch, to serve someone I had no obligation to—it wasn't a life I'd wish on anyone. Never mind the fact that I now had some protections over the other slaves, I still wouldn't want this for a single living soul.

Just as I set the tray down onto the counter, a slew of laughing voices drew my attention to the right, toward the doorways. Thor and his entourage scampered in with a number of the noble ladies, with Loki mingling among them. My eyes lingered on him for a time, observing his classically polite smile as he listened to whatever the woman beside him was saying. Jealousy threatened to rise, but I swallowed it down as I turned away—ignoring the sound of laughter emanating from Loki's direction, which may or may not have come from the woman.

_Damn… _I sighed, shaking my head a bit. '_Prince' Loki's direction. _There could be no familiarity between us anymore—though this was most difficult to remember.

I managed to see just where the _Prince_ sat with his companions, with the woman beside him. A familiar voice suddenly registered to my left, and I nearly froze up a bit as Astrid walked by with the Head Maid—a look of intentness and concentration donning her features as she nodded. My chest eased as she passed.

Seemed everyone was quite busy at the event. Too busy to notice me—which was a good thing. It was better to go unnoticed.

I kept my eyes glued to the marble floors for the rest of the night, reminding myself not to look in the Prince's direction. Pointedly _insisting_ that I resist the urge to see if he'd been looking in my direction. This was the smart thing to do, to my mind—the wise thing. Slave or not, he hadn't attempted to converse with me these past few weeks. Even as a benign friend, he hadn't approached me. He was the only sense of safety and familiarity I'd ever felt here at the palace—save for my mother—and even the glance I'd spared at the start of the evening kindled a bit of the sadness I'd worked hard to bury.

So I kept my head down, and went about my duties for the rest of the night—avoiding Astrid all throughout, as well. After several hours of wearing my feet down in my terrible shoes, there was one last round of refreshing the tables, and it would be over.

Toward the end, I finally spared a glance in the Prince's direction, just in time to see his group standing to leave. There was a grin growing steadily on his features as the woman quickly explained one last thing—eyes wide with intentness—while all the while, he fiddled with the full goblet he kept in his hand.

Some part of me thought that his gaze might sweep up at me dramatically as he left. Not so. As always, reality set in, and he left the banquet room without a single glance. And it was quite late by the time the rest of us had emptied the space. All the quiet muttering had gone, and only the sounds of the few remaining footsteps were left.

"Aila," Davos said as he walked by me, taking my arm to stop me mid-stride. "I must help bring some of the tables down back to the lower corridors, but I will meet you back here before you leave."

"Alright," I nodded, a thankful grin touching my lips. He knew I didn't like walking alone these days. "I'll wait for you."

Davos gave me a warm smile, and a gentle squeeze before heading off. After the furniture had been moved back to its previous arrangement, there wasn't much left to do—I glanced at the time worriedly, noting that Davos hadn't returned yet. Even as the hall grew silent and empty, I waited as long as I could before the discomfort set in. Something had to have kept him, perhaps they needed to move the tables somewhere else? They were quite heavy, after all.

I knew the path to the lower corridors, and despite the anxiety coiling in my abdomen, it still seemed the more attractive option to venture there, instead of staying here all alone—_with the servants. _

A breath of relief poured out of me as I left the hall, once I was sure that Astrid was nowhere in sight. Down the hall and further down a spiraling staircase, remnants of laughter and loud merriment echoed occasionally through the brisk, nighttime air. Sleep was starting to sweep over me, and I briefly considered returning to the catacombs alone.

Movement at the bottom of the stairs caught my eye to the right—where I was due to walk—and my blood froze at Astrid stalking back toward the stairway with her notepad in hand. With stark concentration, she scribbled something furiously as I glanced around the corridor. I could bolt for the courtyard just on the other side of the arches, or I could turn back. Both would surely catch her attention.

I lowered my hands and eyes down, clamping my wrists before me as I strode around her, leaving ample room to seem inconspicuous. I'd just been prepared to exhale relaxedly, when I heard a frustrated gasp, and a flutter of movement behind me.

"Aila?" I heard her say my name—albeit, it was comparably less hostile than usual.

That didn't stop my blood from freezing, and the rest of my body with it.

Schooling my features into a calm expression, I turned slowly, keeping my eyes on the ground. We stood there for moment, Astrid keeping one foot up on the stairs I'd just descended from. The coolness of the night suddenly seemed freezing, and the pale, blue ambiance streaming over us only added to it.

"Well," she murmured coolly as she slid her foot off the step. "You must be looking for your friend."

I stared at the ground perturbedly as she sauntered toward me, stopping at the echo of laughter coming from somewhere nearby. A cold wind blew over us both, lifting my hair off my shoulders as I watched it billow her skirt. My brows creased together as I stared down at it, suddenly wondering what Astrid truly was capable of. If not by me, then what of the other slaves—and what of her own, the servants?

"Yes, I'm looking for him," I breathed out.

She nodded. "And does the Prince know of your whereabouts this evening?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Do you know of his?"

Again, I shook it.

She paused, and then mumbled something darkly as she looked away. For a moment, I wasn't sure whether to walk away, or continue standing there. Only when she tilted her head in my direction, did I suddenly wish that I had gone when I had the chance.

"I've been wondering what they did to you, you know," her voice lilted with an unsettlingly sincere curiosity, and my eyes flickered up toward her. "The day the Prince left you—what was it, exactly, that drove him to that?"

I paused, wondering why she'd suddenly asked. "I was beaten."

"And the method of punishment?"

I pressed my lips together anxiously. "Hooks."

Astrid stared at me, brows rising incredulously. "_Right…_" she sighed—disappointedly. I let out a quiet, disbelieving scoff—one I was sure that only I could hear, until her head snapped toward the sound. "What?"

I stood in place for a moment, and finally shook my head, letting the confusion amass in my head.

"I-I don't understand this…" I murmured, gathering the courage to reason with her gently—perhaps once and for all. "I don't understand your hatred. I've done nothing to you."

"Yes—of course you'd think so," she said darkly, and stepped toward me.

"How can you not see that_?" _I asked earnestly. "Why have this war—"

"This was to be a war from the start."

"_Why?_"

She paused with a smirk. "You take far too much credit for your own importance."

"W-What?" I narrowed my eyes for a moment, before the realization dawned on me. _Too much credit for my own importance…_"If all this has been about the Prince_, _I haven't even spoken to him in _weeks. _You've got what you wanted_—_" I breathed out, stepping back as she stepped toward me.

"Yes, but he favors you, doesn't he?" I stumbled against one of the arches as she closed in. "And for all the things it's caused…" she scoffed. "You just wouldn't believe it. Do you _know_ what happens when a Head Maid is demoted, Aila? She can never ascend to that position—or any like it—ever again. Such a small, insignificant little thing you are, and yet, just look at the damage you've caused_."_

_"_You think it's all _my _fault?" I ground out, feeling emboldened by the truth coming to light. Woman to woman, I rose my eyes and glared up at her. "You have no responsibility in what's happened to you?"

"Not as much as you do_._" It was in that moment, when I'd finally looked her in the eyes, that I realized just how blue they were. How unsettlingly large, as she stood there towering over me, and stared. "I'm not the slave that made eyes at him."

I couldn't tell where the courage had come from, to sneer at her with an incredulous stare. "…but you are a _coward._"

In a flash of wide-eyed anger, her hand flew to my cheek, striking me to the side. "_How dare you?" _she growled lowly. Before I could gather myself, her other hand gripped my throat, and she pushed me back against the arch.

Astrid was older, taller, and _Asgardian_—never mind being better nourished than I was. Whatever I was, whatever my mother was, the combination of factors proved fruitless in that moment—no matter how I grappled her arm, my natural strength couldn't overcome hers.

She shoved me downward with impossible strength, and my throat began to hurt within seconds—my lungs burning for precious air. Stars suddenly littered my vision, and I realized I was close to unconsciousness, or death. The seidr rose weakly, but I couldn't gather it quickly enough to stay the asphyxiation.

Her eyes widened suddenly, and hand loosened as an unseen force blew her against the opposite wall.

In an instant, we both fell to the ground on opposite sides of the corridor. I was unable to cough, and barely able to breath. My eyes watered as I stared at the textured floor, while a pair of boots shuffled in my direction, still trying to _breathe_. I rolled over and looked up at the figure strolling toward us, empty goblet hanging in his hand.

Emerald eyes dropped down to mine as the Prince kneeled beside me. He kept his gaze on me steadily on the way down, flicking his wrist in Astrid's direction. In the corner of my eye, I saw her fly up against the wall again, and the same hand lowered down to me, sliding over my aching throat—which no longer permitted the flow of air. Warmth poured into me from his skin, the softness of his touch ridding me of the pain as sweet, sweet air sucked into my lungs once more.

His thumb brushed over my jaw once before he stood. My chest heaved as I rolled over, scrambling onto my elbows as he sauntered leisurely toward Astrid—still pinned against the wall. Loki's free hand tucked behind his back, and he raised the goblet up before him, as though admiring it.

His demeanor was…terrifying. The very air around him was hot, and I scrambled to my knees, and slowly my feet—grabbing onto the archways for support.

"Leave us," he muttered darkly.

I looked between him and Astrid—still grappling with the invisible force that held her in place. "Loki, I—"

"_Leave." _

I stared at him for a moment, before shuffling away slowly. Step by step, I made my way down the hall, tremors still haunting my limbs, and turned back once to see his face—utterly calm as he stared at Astrid. With his expression embedded in my thoughts, I wandered around the hallways for some time, until a familiar voice brought me out of them—and a familiar face, to match, both looking and sounding as though they'd run some distance to get here.

Davos. Begging my forgiveness—from what I caught of the words tumbling from his mouth. '_Are you alright?'_ I heard him say.

I swayed uneasily, before finally managing to look up at him. "I—I need to sit…"

* * *

Once Aila had disappeared down the hallway, Loki stared at the woman still struggling against the magic holding her in place. He turned strolled over to one of the arches, and set his goblet down on a flat spot before releasing her, listening as she dropped to the ground. Loki turned, arching a brow at her terrified expression, and leaned against once of the arches—letting out a hefty sigh.

"I'll admit, you've impressed me." Astrid's eyes narrowed up at him from the ground. "You'd be murdered on the spot if you ever attempted to harm me directly," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "So you pursued a less _consequential_ vulnerability."

_"I-I would never hurt you, my Prince—"_

"Of course you wouldn't," he interjected calmly. "Though it hardly matters what you would or would not attempt with me. There's another matter at work here, to be rectified"

His gaze hardened at the woman, and she froze the moment she noticed it, eyes widening with fear. All movement ceased.

"_For if you ever raise your hand at Aila again,_" he spoke, his baritone voice humming to life with the magic of a curse. "_Or attempt to do her harm, you will be fraught with any pain you cause. After its onset, it will never cease. Every hook, burn, and fall you inflict—you yourself will endure."_

Astrid stared at him for moments more from the ground, lips parting and closing as she waited for something to happen. Loki pinpointed exactly when she felt it—the twinge of pain in her throat. He rose from the arch slowly, turning to trail off in Aila's direction as the woman swallowed thickly, raising a hand up to her throat. The last thing he heard was a muffled cough before disappearing around the corner.

The threat would be a lasting one.

Loki only planned to follow after Aila a bit, and give up if the effort proved in vain. Though that minute effort was all it took to find her, as he rounded a corner and spotted her on a lonely bench in the nearby corridor. He quickly hid behind the corner, eyes narrowing at the sight of the second figure sitting beside her, resting his hand on her knee. Being this far down in the Palace, at time of night, they must have known that there would be no one around to apprehend them—Loki certainly wasn't going to do it immediately.

_"I need to tell you something." _With his advanced hearing, he heard Aila mutter to the man—her tone strange, as though filled with guilt. Before Loki could even guess at what she meant, Aila took the man's hand, and little golden sparks emanated subtly between her fingers.

An intimate secret, revealed.

He shook her hand off immediately, and Loki felt his lips turn downward with an unpleasant bitterness._ "W-What is that?" _he asked frantically after a moment of staring.

_"This is my seidr." _

The man looked at her, and the air filled with silence for a moment.

_"S-Seidr—but how…!?" _

_"Mother taught me before she died. She spent a lot of time at it, because…" _Aila paused._ "Davos, she wanted us to escape Asgard one day." _

Loki felt his stomach drop. As did the man, seemingly, as he looked between her hand and her face several times before she continued.

_"I don't know how, or when… But if I could do it, I could go… Or 'we' could…." _

_"You want to go together?" _he said it for her._ "Leave Asgard, somehow?"_

A quiet wind permeated the air.

_"There's nothing left for me here, except you," _Aila finally whispered, voice trembling with an onslaught of tears, and Loki stared down at the ground as he listened—feeling the frown deepen painfully in his expression, clenched fists loosening at his side. _"I don't want to go alone, and I don't want to leave you here…" _

_"Of course I'll go," _the man stuttered earnestly._ "If you think it's possible, of course I will go… I'll go anywhere—with you especially, Aila." _

_"I just can't stay here—there's pain everywhere I look, Davos," _she wept quietly, and tension flickered in Loki's brows as his chest tightened. So, that was his name_. _

_"If you find us a way, we will go—together," _he answered, and by the scuffling of fabric, Loki gathered that the man stood. "_Don't think twice on it, you won't go anywhere alone."_

Glancing around the corner, he saw that Davos stood and took Aila by the arm, raising her up. A glimmer of uncertainty passed over her features when he stepped in, and his hands appeared on either side of her neck—but she stared up at him all the same.

She nearly shook her head as she spoke,_ "Davos, I-I'm in—"_

He stepped in without letting her finish, slating his lips over hers. For a brief instant, Loki stopped breathing as he watched him kiss her, heard the sounds of their lips moving together…

Nausea rose when she wrapped her arms around him. And like watching a wreckage, he couldn't look away, until he absolutely forced the movement with every fiber of his will—swinging an arm out behind him, to magically conjure the sound of heavy footsteps nearing the corner.

As they neared, Loki straightened his expression stepped into them, revealing himself to the now-parted couple in the hallway.

He strode toward them at a leisurely pace, schooling his features in a mask of icy calm, with his hands clamped behind his back. "Aila," he muttered neutrally as he approached, and nodded toward the man—before realizing that his eyes were at the ground. He looked back at Aila instead, throat tightening a bit. "Are you alright?"

It took her a moment to nod briskly. "Yes—yes I'm alright…"

"That woman won't be bothering you again."

"What did you do?"

"I protected you." The words slipped out—albeit serenely—before Loki could fully considering how they sounded. Before he could try to see past the vile bitterness pressing him to assert himself over this other man's influence. With the briefest flicker of movement, Loki saw Davos furrow a brow slightly, and a sliver of satisfaction fluttered through him. "I believe I kept my word to you tonight."

Aila looked between them nodded slightly, averting her gaze to Davos as well. "We should go…"

"Indeed," Loki agreed, meeting her brown eyes once more, and subdued the fluttering impulse that swept across his chest.

This was the closest they'd been in weeks, after all. And he couldn't recall the last time he'd caught her looking back at him like this. He'd missed her terribly, having grown so fond of her over the few brief months she'd spent with him—though that hardly negated his reasons for letting her go. One evil had been dealt with, but what of the others? Was it even a possibility to have them dealt with, so they may resume their prior arrangement?

_Certainly not, if she successfully escaped Asgard. _

"Good night, my Prince," Aila murmured lowly, snapping Loki's attention back to her. He briefly wondered if Davos had also heard the gentility in her voice, the calming softness—by the way his hands were gathered in loose fists, perhaps he had.

An unamused grin tugged on the corner of his lip. "_Always yours,_" he muttered flatly before turning away from the two of them, catching a final glimpse of how Aila blinked surprisedly at the remark. Instead of opting for the corridor, however, Loki stepped toward the arches that stretched across all the lowest levels of the palace. And in a flash of green, he stepped into another form—leaving raven feathers behind as he disappeared against the black sky.

* * *

**Oh gosh, I am 0% certain that this chapter played out the way it did my head. Usually I try to hide my rationalizations for why characters behave/think/feel/perceive the way they do, but I think it came across more than usual in this chapter. Sorry if that got a bit boring... I got so many reviews for the last chapter, asking for the next one to come out quickly, it was like one sympathetic "gosh I know that feeling of anticipation" sentiment piling on after another until it became "okay I need to write this chapter early." And yes, there'll probably be another one this coming Sunday! Most likely...**

**And holy canoly the last chapter got such a huge response! I was overwhelmed and a little bit weepy. I've also had to wait for chapters to get posted on stories before, I really felt those feels as I read your reviews, so I hope this one was satisfying at least a little bit until the next one comes. I also want to let you guys know that while Astrid's arc may have come to a big "woaaah" moment this chapter (Aila lost it again toward the end there, heh), it's not fully over. I promised you guys a ton of palace intrigue, etc etc., and while these last two chapters may have been a bit heavy, there's much more to come! New characters and all!**

**Also, something that really touched my heart: one of you mentioned (and a few of you alluded to) Aila and Loki's happy ending-or worry about how this story would lead them to it. As a writer, it's my obligation to you, the reader, to ALWAYS deliver a whirlwind of an adventurous story, a ton of feels, and a fulfilling ending. This is a sacred bond of trust between writer and reader that I vow to never abuse. *coughgameofthronescough* I already know how this story will end, so don't you worry. :)**

**Oki doki. Til next time, darlings. **


	11. Chapter 11: A Devilish Plot

**Sorry about the re-upload, guys! Spotted some structural issues, had to update it.**

* * *

"If she finds a way, you can't ask her to stay here," Frigga said, glaring across the table at her son.

It was a fine Sunday afternoon, and Loki wished she'd paid more attention to the city view off the edge of the garden courtyard. Rather than expend her energy wearing his resolve down.

"I didn't tell you this to have you change my mind, mother."

"You would rather have her stay in a place where she is abused and deprived for the entirety of her life, and for what?" She straightened up against her ornate chair, the fluttering leaves of the canopy casting dancing shadows across her face. "Tell me that much, Loki—what can you possibly offer?"

Loki considered it for a moment. "I can offer her protection."

"_Hardly,"_ Frigga said darkly. "I understand that you care for this slave, but your father's power still outweighs your own, whether you like it, or not."

Loki sighed, feeling frustrated with the direction of this conversation. His gaze trailed over the city rooftops, down to the training arena to the far left of the palace. He stared down at it, recalling every instant he'd seen Aila for the past few weeks—watching their training sessions with her friend in the dark. Did they really hope to learn from afar? Was that their plan?It was all strange…Strange the way she watched them. Strange the way her eyes narrowed at their different maneuvers.

"She has become a dear friend to me," he said calmly. "Nothing more. I merely thought you would tend to this matter better than I."

"You thought wrong, Loki. I will convince her of no such thing when she arrives." Frigga jabbed a finger in his direction. "And shame on you for trying to force me into a corner like this."

"I didn't _force_ you to do anything, mother."

"Why else would you have her come up to this—"

Just then, there was the sound of a clearing throat appeared behind them. A guard had arrived.

The queen sat back with a look of annoyance and looked out into the city, while Loki turned toward the guard that had appeared.

"She is here," he announced.

Loki gave the guard a nod—feeling something of a knot tightening in his stomach—and kept a mask of icy calm as the young woman appeared moments later, approaching them both. Her hair had gotten slightly longer over the past few weeks, tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves. Frigga turned and looked at the girl, a glimmer of pity tensing in the corners of her upturned grin.

"Aila," Loki said steadily, and her cool, composed eyes flickered toward his boots, while a subtle wind brushed her hair against her neutral features. It was then that he noticed how her hands were locked before her, thumbs brushing against each other nervously.

Aila nodded. "My Prince… My Queen."

Loki heard Frigga sigh quietly beside him—by the flicker of movement, Aila clearly noticed it as well.

He nodded toward the chair to his left at the table. "Sit."

Aila didn't move at first, looking uncomfortable for a time, but finally obeyed.

Loki sat back, leaving his tea utterly untouched and growing cold. "How are you feeling?" he asked nonchalantly as she sat.

Aila's brows pinched, and she looked up at him. "I'm good, My Prince. Thank you."

"How have you been faring these past few weeks?" he asked as he reached forward for his tea, and suppressed a grimace at discovering it was utterly cool.

Frigga's expression hardened on the other side of the table, and it was only then that Loki realized just how uncomfortable Aila truly appeared—sitting just on the edge of the chair, as though she didn't want to be there.

With a subtle eye roll, the Queen leaned forward to assuage the obvious apprehension. "You may speak freely in front of us, my dear. And there's no need to lower your eyes in our company. We're all friends here."

Aila's eyes jumped up to her incredulously, and Loki watched as his mother offered a kind, pitying grin. To which, Aila shifted a bit deeper into the chair, and her graceful lips quirked upward. No one spoke for a moment—only then did Loki realize that he had no other plan, since having his mother dissuade her in some thinly veiled fashion failed.

"I heard you came to retrieve me that night with the Prince, my Queen…" Aila finally murmured, and Frigga quickly permitted her the usage of her name in private company. A grateful sadness crept into the corners of Aila's eyes. "I'm very thankful, Queen Frigga—I've been recovering steadily since that night."

"I'm afraid I wasn't able to stay very long after we arrived," Frigga glanced at Loki, "It was….quite something to behold, if you understand me."

"I do. I wouldn't have wanted you to see that," she said lowly. "…Or anyone at that."

"If my son hadn't seen it, you would have died," Frigga arched a brow as she sat back, and waved her hand over her teacup—warming it. Aila's eyes fell toward the motion, then up at Loki, and back to his mother.

"Your son's paid me more kindnesses than I am due."

Frigga's brows shot up entirely as she sipped her tea. "I've gathered that he has, though I would not call them undue."

"Others don't see it the way you do."

"All matters pertaining to the slaves, you mean—yes," she sighed. "Unfortunately, the Alfather's reach stretches far in many modes…"

"I can't say that that's alright," Aila mumbled. "I can only speak for myself, and I've been far better cared for than the others."

_The others. _An idea sprang to life.

"Enough to help us rally against Odin's laws?" Loki said calmly, as though he'd been waiting on the opportunity. "That the possession of slaves in this fashion is an impermissible act?"

Both Aila and the Queen looked up at him—one with a quizzical brow, and the other gravely suspicious.

"I don't understand," Aila shook her head.

The idea hatched further—but Loki kept his composure, continuing coolly through the conversation. "Does this interest you?"

"Well of course, but… how?"

He threw a glance over to the city roofs, buying himself a few vital seconds to concoct the plot. "We're at the cusp of peace in all the nine realms. Asgardians are living in other realms, protected by Asgard's laws in tandem with the others.' If others were to learn of the full state of their imprisoned on Asgard, it could rouse unrest in the more patriotic realms."

Aila's eyes were narrowed, studying him carefully as she considered the implications—not that she could predict them, of course. Even Loki had had years of schooling to prepare him for this half-assed ruse… and even so, he had _no_ idea if this could really work.

"You think it would work?" she asked.

"Yes." _Maybe._

"How would we do it?"

_And now, we've come to it._ "There will be one last influx of slaves—I could pose as one of them, come spend time in the catacombs," he looked at Aila. "With an ally beside me, I could then cross-reference the imposed treatments with laws from other realms. If any bit of what's happening here conflicts with other realms, I shall find it. And that, alone, might pose a threat to the Alfather's peace of mind. Perhaps lead to something that will push us further in the endeavor, than where we stand today."

Frigga's jaw dropped in shock and confusion. Loki grinned inwardly—knowing he was very well spoken, indeed.

And, besides… Given that the royal family had never actually spent time in the catacombs, it was entirely possible that he _would _find something. It _could_ work.

And, perhaps, it would give Aila a reason to stay her decision.

His eyes flickered toward her with the thought, and his breath slowed at the sight of her staring back. It was in that moment that he realized why he'd wanted all of this_—_he'd missed her. He'd missed her terribly.

It was the only explanation, albeit a harmless one—he'd kissed her that night in the woods simply because he'd wanted to. Because it was sweet and pleasurable. The only woman in all of Asgard whose company he actually favored and enjoyed, now wanted to leave? There had to be other options. Even if she was a slave—a circumstance which, perhaps, could be rectified. And then… Maybe then they could talk freely. Walk the grounds freely. Enjoy time in the library—freely.

"You don't know what you're suggesting," Aila murmured darkly. "To spend time in the catacombs, is… it's not easy."

"You've done it, haven't you?" Loki mused. "With your guidance, I'm sure we'd drive the operation to its fullest success, whatever that may yield."

His mother stared at him blankly—it was becoming rather amusing.

"A-Alright…" Aila murmured finally. "We can try."

_Yes. _

Regardless of whether he knew what he was getting into, a wave of satisfaction barreled through Loki. It may not have been a long term solution, but it bought him time.

And perhaps, a chance.

* * *

It took some time before Loki's plan could go into effect. Weeks, even, before the final round of slaves were brought to Asgard. Prisoners of war, criminals who had undergone their trials…and Loki.

Except, he was not Loki…

I nearly gaped at the tall, willowy woman that stepped off the caravan in the late evening, by the wooded entrance to the catacombs. She was beautiful, but distinctly Loki—I could see it clearly. The curve of his jaw, the curl of his hair, the green of his eyes… He'd done just enough to ensure that no one else would—or did—recognize him, but I did. Almost immediately. Though even so, I still wasn't convinced that this plan would be a success…

"Aila," he quietly crooned my name in a feminine voice, with a smoothness highly characteristic of his true tone. "You look shocked."

"Was this part of your plan?" I whispered earnestly.

"Of course," he answered. "How else would we manage?"

Right. I was to be his ally, to guide him and ensure that he didn't do anything unusually stupid—especially in this form. Though it may be even more problematic than he had anticipated.

I glanced over at the guards, then back at Loki. Only to find him staring down at me with beautiful green eyes that left me stupefied for a moment. Knowing it was Loki behind those feminine eyes stirred something in me, and the redness that inadvertently rose to my cheeks made this the strangest moment of my life.

"_I, um…_ You will need to stay close to me if you're sticking to that form."

"Naturally."

"What am I to call you?"

"Lydia."

"Lydia. Alright." A steady breath escaped me. "Okay… Let's go then, follow me."

The tunnel that led back past the outer gate and into the catacombs was relatively spacious—though even then, I felt breathless the entire way back. Even after the initial shock had set in, my head still pounded from the knowledge of who I was harboring. Whose safety I was responsible for, in part. All while he gandered about the catacombs, watching and observing—looking for things I couldn't hope to guess at. But he was ever the observant Prince…

When I looked over my shoulder at him, it seemed he was already at work. Or perhaps he was regretting the plan already, as he looked around at the beds lining the halls. We would have to find one for him, or make one somehow. The guards had only counted the number of slaves that had arrived—I'd watched them set the beds—not those who arrived in the catacombs. This was a problem.

"Quit your worrying," Lydia whispered beside me as I turned my head back, and strode ahead. "And, slow down. Everything will be alright."

Gods, my head was hurting. Positively throbbing. "I _really_ hope you know what you're doing…"

"I do."

I stopped, and pivoted sharply just before we entered the hall where I was to be staying—where Davos and the others would greet us. I took Lydia by the arm and pushed her slowly—still trying to handle her delicately, seeing as she was a Prince of Asgard.

"Now listen," I hissed, stopping only when we stood beside the towering, cavernous wall. Torchlights flickered against Lydia's distinct features. "You say nothing, do nothing, and draw no attention to yourself. I counted the beds today, and there are none left here. I may find you one in the lower halls, when the guards leave." Her face was unreadable—perfectly still as she listened, without blinking, and stoic in the orange glow. "In the morning, I will come and find you, and go about the day with you. You do _nothing_ without me, do you understand?"

Lydia stared at me for a moment, and then narrowed her emerald eyes with a matching smile. "_Aila…_" she crooned.

"What?"

"Are you _that_ concerned about me?"

"Of course I am."

Lydia's smile faltered a bit, and she blinked down to my lips. I couldn't look at her. I inhaled sharply, jerking my hands out to my side as I felt my cheeks turn red again. "_Gods help me…_" I whispered as I turned.

"I _am_ here to help you," she said amusedly, but I didn't look back at her.

"Come on, let's go…"

Lydia followed me out to the hall where I was to stay, where Davos and Dina and Eros were sitting around one of the small fire pits.

"Aila," Davos stood, and Dina gave me a friendly smile over her shoulder—looking twice at the sight of Lydia just behind me. I was nearly prompted to tell Davos to refrain from kissing me, but that might have drawn undue attention, so I let it be as he looked over my shoulder. "Who is this?"

Finally glancing back, I was relieved—and even a bit impressed—at the genuine fear and devastation etched across Lydia's features. Head to toe. "This is Lydia," I said, and her green eyes fell toward me graciously—as though I really _had_ just brought in a slave from another land. "She just arrived with a few of the others, from Niflheim."

"_Niflheim?" _Davos' brows shot up.

Behind me, Lydia merely stared up at him sadly—_Gods,_ he was good at this.

Dina stood, leaving her declared by the fire with the small bit of bread he'd had when we arrived. They'd been sharing it, judging by the second half he held in his hand. "When did you arrive, darling?" she asked kindly.

"Not a day ago," Lydia answered demurely—while I stood mesmerized by the performance.

"Aila, did you just bring her back from the western gate?"

The sound of my name snapped me back slightly. "Yes—Yes, although I'd seen her at the docks yesterday evening." A likely story, seeing as I had purposefully volunteered to go out there for an errand on behalf of one of the servants. "I think she may have to stay in one of the upper halls, there're no more beds here. I'll take her there when the guards are gone."

"You don't want to do that," Davos said. I stared at him for a moment.

"Why not?"

He seemed a bit uncomfortable to tell me what came next. "Do you remember the last time they brought in a new group?"

Damn. I'd forgotten about that. "That was different, they only abused those prisoners because they were-"

"They were from Svartalfheim, I know." Davos shrugged. "I'm only warning you, be careful. Niflheim isn't much better."

"Can we find her a place to sleep here, then?"

"We must."

Dina nodded in agreement as she sat back down. "And we will darling, but let's finish eating first. If I move any more without a bit of sugar in my blood, I'll pass out…"

"Here," said Eros—ever the quiet one, even before their marriage—as he held out the bread for her.

"Join us," Davos offered to Lydia. "You must be tired."

"I am," Lydia nodded.

It was a bit uncomfortable to situate ourselves around the pit—and no matter how much magic there was covering up his appearance, there was no mistaking the hint of disdain in Lydia's eye

each time she looked in mine and Davos' direction. It almost made no sense to me, until I remembered the night in the mountain—how could he not feel something, after that?

'_Do not think of it again,' _he'd told me.

_Sure._

Though when it came to it, the Prince set aside his emotions magnificently. The tale he'd spun about his previous life, his misery in the war, and all the events that followed him here was well thought out. If I hadn't known any better, I would have believed him myself. Instead, I spent the majority of the conversation staring down at the dried piece of meat in my hands, and the dusty piece of stale bread that had obviously fallen to the ground at some point.

"You're dozing off, aren't you?" Davos' voice suddenly drew my attention from the flames.

"What?" I wasn't dozing off in the slightest—concentrating, if nothing else. I still had to find a way to ensure the Prince's safety while he stayed here. Regardless of whether he truly needed my help… I had to give it.

"They're dimming the lights," Dina pointed out. "Perhaps we ought to find a place for Lydia to sleep."

'Lydia' gave her an earnest, thankful grin.

"We should," I nodded as I stood, suddenly realizing that all my concentration had resulted from the anxiety coiling in my chest. "But I don't even know where to start."

"Go look in the other corners, perhaps we can pull something together."

"Right," I cocked my head toward Lydia. "You should come with me. We can figure out what your backside will tolerate."

"Of course," she mused gratefully as she stood, and sauntered over to my side. "Whatever I can do to help."

I paused, leveling a stare at her—and receiving a quick wink in turn—before turning to saunter away. And there, all along the edges of the walls were hardened sacks of grain, and crates… dread began setting in when we couldn't find anything remotely comfortable.

I frowned. "Damn it…"

Lydia sighed gravely. "I can't sleep on the floor each time I come down here. Can't they just bring me a bed?"

"Go on and try to complain, see what happens to you." I said. "We'll figure something out. I just don't know what to do right now…"

I stared down at the ground for a moment, hands propped on my hips, and listened to the sound of my own breath rising and falling… This was my failure. I should have been more diligent, should've thought ahead about this. I hadn't considered how they'd be counted, or when, or why…

"There is a solution," came Lydia's voice, and I looked at her. The calmness in her expression was unsettling, knowing who was behind that mask. And when she shot me a knowing look, my eyes widened with realization.

_Oh._ It struck me that the Prince was suggesting we share a bed, and I shook my head. "No."

"Alright," Lydia said, agreeing easily. A glimmer of reproach flashed over her features. "I suppose I'll sit on the ground somewhere, then…"

The way she looked around at the cavernous walls had me wincing on her behalf—so many sharp edges. But, the alternative was… just absolutely…..

_"__Fine_," I stepped toward Lydia, lowering my voice intently. "But no matter the form you sleep in, you stay on _your_ half the bed, and leave me at mine."

"Of course."

I paused. "And you _should_ probably sleep like that."

"Understood."

I arched a brow a bit at his… utter agreement. Even appreciated it, a bit. "Okay," I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm at the words that came next, "Let's…go to sleep, then. We've a long day tomorrow."

Even going to bed proved more nerve wracking than I thought, however. Sharing a bed with the Prince. I'd changed back out of my palace apparel in the time that Lydia waited, and I could no longer taper the nervousness, now that we'd come to it.

Lydia stood on the other side of the small bed—gods, it was so small—and I cringed a little as I gestured to it, allowing her to go first. With a quirk of her feminine lip, she laid down on it, taking a sizable share of the already-constrained width. It creaked as I descended onto it as well, facing away as I listened as remnants of conversations drowned out as whispers. The torches had all been dimmed as well, to where there were only a few left to light the enormous hall.

All per usual.

I pointedly faced away from her, and remained unmoving. Every now and again, I heard her long hair brush against the pillow, as though she were looking at me. And each time, it was frustrating.

"_Why aren't you sleeping?_" I finally whispered as she looked at me again, quiet enough to where the other sleeping slaves were unlikely to hear me.

"_I'm getting there._"

"_It doesn't sound like it." _

_"__Sorry to hear that." _

_"__You should be." _

_"__I am."_ She suddenly paused, drawing out a long breath. "_I am sorry if this is encumbering for you." _

My shoulders sank a bit as I considered her words, calming a bit. _"I should've planned it better, I suppose…"_

"_We both should have."_

I smirked a little. "_It seems we're both constantly looking to fault ourselves these days._"

"_This habit extends only to you."_

I smiled, listening to him breathe for a moment. "…_Lydia?_"

_"__Yes?"_

I stared ahead, trailing my eyes over the dark, textured walls. "_What did you do to Astrid?" _

There was silence for a moment. _"Has she bothered you again?"_

_"__No, she's left me alone." _

_"__Good._" She paused again. "_Do you really want to know?"_

I nodded against the pillow.

"_I cursed her._"

My eyes widened. _"Cursed?"_

_"__Yes. I cursed her so that she can no longer harm you, without carrying the pain for the rest of her days." _

A severe punishment…

_"__Why?" _

_"__Why what?" _

_"__Why did you do it?" _

Another pause. _"I promised to take care of you." _

_"__You promised to extend me protection, and you did." _

_"__If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been hurt like that." _

I squirmed a little at the thought of tiny hooks catching against my skin…

I tried to put it out of my head quickly, knowing what it would do if I didn't. _"Well, if it weren't for me, you'd be sleeping in your own, comfortable bed right now." _

_"__Hardly a comparison."_

_"__It's all I've got—and it's the truth." _

_"__You don't know that." _

A breathy chuckle beat through my chest. _"I think I do." _

More silence. _"Aila,"_ I heard her again.

_"__Yes?" _

_"__You should sleep now." _

I grinned, shifting as comfortably as I could—knowing I'd be stuck on one side for the remainder of the night. And aside from the discomfort, it took time before I even managed to skate the edges of sleep. The edges of a dream. Our conversation circled in my head until it took me—though it hardly abated, even then. And aside from Lydia, the mere reminder of the punishment I'd received had my dreams teeming with nightmares.

It finally roused me abruptly, in the middle of the night, and I gasped sharply—my body shaking as I struggled to see straight. Hooks, blood splattering, pain so intense that it practically burned… I shot up straight in the bed, scrambling a bit whilst taking heavy breaths, bumping into something beside me.

For a moment, I didn't recognize the body that was laying next to me, and was startled when a hand suddenly cupped my damp cheek and tugged me toward a pair of startled eyes—while a distant voice called me away from the panic.

At first I recoiled, but when a sheen of green light spread over the figure, I recalled who it was—Lydia. Except, Loki had now unmasked himself.

"Calm down," he whispered, and my hand flew to his, which still on my cheek. It took a moment for me to realize the noise we'd made, and I gaped around us with horror, seeing the dead of night as quiet and still as it was moments ago. "It's alright," Loki's voice reassured me, "They can neither see, nor hear us at the moment."

I blinked it away—the dream, the panic—and then took a closer look, seeing and _feeling_ the sheen of seidr surrounding us both.

_"__Loki,"_ I gasped, feeling a little lightheaded. _"H-How—"_

"An illusion," he said, and I could vaguely see his eyes darting around my features—could vaguely make out the clothes he'd been wearing. It definitely was not his usual attire, but I could not tell if it was ours either. "What happened?" he asked.

My hand slid off of his. His followed suit, though his hand never left my skin—it merely drifted down to the crook of my neck.

"N-Nothing," I said in a whisper, for good measure. "N-Nightmare."

"I see—I can cast a spell, you'll have no more nightmares," he said, and I could feel his breath on my lip. "Know that you're alright. You're safe."

"_I know…_" I breathed out, only registering in that moment how I truly meant it. How I knew that right then and there, sitting upright beside Loki, that I was truly safe.

I softened a bit. And he seemed to notice the change in my expression, as his fingers pressed a bit harder against my skin. "Lay down," he instructed, gently pulling me back downward.

Settling back onto the pillow, I stared at him a moment, seeing the distant flickering of the single lit torch in his eyes. Slowly but surely, a familiar tension gripped my chest. Both our breaths—no matter how taut—were now intertwined in the small space left between us, and his hand continued to rest on my neck.

At some point, his thumb had begun tracing soft, soothing circles, but I didn't catch when it started—when did our legs shift close enough to be touching?

I had no idea how long I laid there and stared at his shadowy features—how long he let me do it.

"_Loki,_" I finally whispered.

_"__Yes?" _

My heart was thrumming loudly in my ribcage, sending wave after wave of affection through my limbs. _"I've missed you so much."_

His breathing paused, and resumed a moment later. All other movements stopped for a time, and the torchlight flickered in his eyes as he studied me. Until finally, he _himself_ began to move. The air in my lungs froze as he slid toward me—slating his entire body over mine. He hovered a few inches above me for a moment, brushing his thumb against my temple, my hair, my cheek, while his eyes grew heavier—and then, he descended on me with slow, unbridled passion.

The more we shifted, writhing together, the harsher our movements became. This wasn't like the night in the woods—there was a growing heat, a growing _need,_ that glowed between us. His sharp breaths fanned my cheeks as my lips grew damp from his kiss, and my hand made its way up to his hair as his tongue caressed mine, his heaviness pressing me down into this pitiful little bed. It left me clawing at his backside for more closeness, while his hands raked with steady pressure down my waist, and up my thigh as I lifted it in tandem with his movements.

I had never felt such alertness coursing through me. Every inch of my skin came alive, my body tensing and loosening as his weight shifted between my legs, his length pressing against me.

_And I… I would do this now. _

I _wanted to do this now. _

Hel, I'd never wanted anything more—and as my fingers dug into his backside, as his touch grew taut and aggressive, I gasped when a hand dove clean under my shirt, dragging it up my abdomen. And just like that, I knew it was going to happen…. I no longer cared who he was, who I was, what we'd been through or what it cost. My legs hooked around his hips as his callused hand cupped my breast, I could never have imagined this more perfectly.

Until his hand dragged down the length of my torso, and… stopped.

Loki pulled his lips away abruptly, one hand resting on my waist. "W-What…?" I whispered up at him—while he stared at the pillow beside me, instead of my eyes. "What's wrong?"

The slight twitch of his finger answered the question…

_He'd felt the scars._

The remnants of my punishments—reminders of who and what I was.

I'd forgotten about them entirely until now, and an utter sense of dread and horror swept over me. I couldn't tell in this lighting what he felt—fear, repulsion, anxiety—and tears began to rise as the heat melted away, my hands shaking from the sudden cold. I swallowed thickly as his hand disappeared from my skin, and left the underside of my shirt…

For a moment, he rested it on the bed, catching his own breath as the intensity dissipated from his body. Tears rose with a madness, and embarrassment coiled in my stomach. The sharp sigh he let out interrupted my panicked thoughts, and his hand drew to my cheek, while Loki lowered himself down onto me, pressing his forehead against mine.

His voice came out thickly, "Aila…"

"I-I'm sorry—"

Loki's lips covered mine immediately, stopping me mid-sentence, and then he pulled away softly. "Don't you dare apologize."

I couldn't help it.

I began to cry quietly, letting the tears slip through the corners of my eyes as I stared up at him. He only realized it when he heard my sharp, congested inhale, and moved without another word—taking me into his arms. Intertwining with me in this awful place, in this awful little bed…

* * *

**So, my dears. I'm so sorry I didn't post last Sunday, I've got a cover reveal coming up so my other project(s) needed my undivided attention. Buuuuuut this chapter was one of the first ones I thought of when I came up with this story, and I was super excited to write it! In fact, I thought of it when I was reading a book.**

**I'm keeping it short today because my neck hurts like hell (it hurts to be looking down at this), and I'm just really tired. Woke up at 5 AM today, and my brain just hurts. But I've been reading and rereading all your amazingly supportive reviews, and you guys are just the sweetest (I really didn't think people would like this story that much, I just started writing it for my own entertainment), and I wish I could give you all hugs! **

**But yeah, that's all for now. I'm going to go open up a $50 bottle of wine, git drunk, git brie cheese with bread, turn on some Elder Scrolls Online, and get plastered enough to where I start responding to the dialogue IRL. Happy Saturday, my dears! :) **


	12. Chapter 12: Curse My Dwindling Will

Thor traipsed across the field, sweaty and tired from the long day of training. While there was peace in the realms, the need for upkeep never ended among himself and his companions. Nor did the desire for it. He was perfectly content with their day-to-day routines, and all else seemed to be well in the palace—there was no need for the elder Prince of Asgard these days.

A glimpse of a shadow crossed his peripheral, and he turned in time to see a figure disappear around the corner of the long hallway to his right.

"Hello?"

There was no answer.

He followed the sound of feet pattering away, taking two long strides before he reached it. There, saw a figure strutting quickly down the hallway, and recognized it immediately—the brown waves flowing over her shoulder, the small frame… Yes, this wasn't even the first time he'd seen it—though this instance confirmed to him now that the passing shadow was not his imagination. From the edges of the arena to the topmost doorways on the highest levels, it jumped from view when his attention moved in its direction.

"Aila?" he called out to her, and the woman stopped, turning slowly. She kept her eyes on the ground as she schooled her features, and bowed her head to him. "What are you doing here?"

She merely stared at the ground, her chest rising and falling steadily as thoughts openly zipped across her eyes. She hardly moved as Thor approached her, and he began sensing the distinct anxiety in her features as he nearer and nearer. He slowed a good distance away for her sake, furrowing a brow at the strange woman—his brother's slave.

He was among the many had no understanding of Loki's decision when he chose to employ her. It was equally strange when she was suddenly released from his service several months later, and collected again for it just recently.

Constantly back and forth, those two were. And the entire palace talked about it—there had even been rumors of a servant interfering with their…arrangement.

"I…" She paused, her voice betraying a nervousness that her expression refused to show. "I apologize, my Prince."

Thor waited for an explanation. "What is there to apologize for?" he asked, watching as Aila's lips parted and closed again. "And… have I seen you here before, Aila?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Her brows flickered upward, but Aila's eyes remained on the ground.

"Please, you may look at me when you speak," he said, and the slave blinked surprisedly before looking up at him. Looking just as thoughtful staring up, as she was staring down at the ground. "You've nothing to fear from me. I said, I believe I've seen you here a number of times—am I mistaken?"

Discomfort stirred in Thor's chest as the woman studied him carefully, considering his words. "No, my Prince."

"—Thor."

She looked reluctant to repeat it. "Thor…you are not mistaken."

He tilted his head. "And why is that?"

"It's interesting to watch."

"Watch?"

"The fights," she said, casting her eyes to the side for a bit.

"I see. Does my brother know of this?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Professional curiosity, then?" Thor chuckled a bit. "Unusual interest for a-" he stopped before he could finish the thought, and Aila raised her brows a bit—a kindly expression remaining in her features. "Forgive me."

She shook her head. "What's there to forgive?"

True, what was there to forgive? For a moment, even he didn't quite understand the impulse to apologize. A number of reasons came to mind, naturally, though perhaps it was far more simple than he guessed—perhaps it was simply the fact that Aila hadn't appeared before him as a slave. Rather, a woman. And perhaps this was why Loki had kept her nearby so vehemently these past few months. Perhaps this was why she seemed to shadow his every step, seemingly interrupting his thoughts and standing in the way of conversation amidst noblemen, with her presence alone.

She looked at him with a commanding eye, spoke with a kind gracefulness. Perhaps, even, if she were given to his service instead of Loki's, he may have been the one to—

Thor didn't finish the thought. Any more than that was asking for trouble. "Right," he grinned friendlily. "I've no wish to be unkind."

"A word is not unkind," she said. "But I understand your meaning. Thank you."

"Meanings don't carry much weight for most." He paused, wondering for a moment just how many years she has spent being called a slave by others. Being mistreated, at that. "How old are you, if I may ask?"

"I will be one hundred and twenty-seven, my lord, in two days' time."

"You mean to say, that it will be your birthday?"

"That's right."

"How will you celebrate?"

"I won't… I've no plans to."

"Why not?"

Aila paused. "It'll be my first birth day since my mother's death. I would avoid thinking on it altogether, if I could."

"Oh." Thor frowned. "Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive," she said again, a bit more softly, with a gentle smile.

She certainly was a strange one—strange enough to draw a quiet chuckle. "You know, I don't understand my brother in many respects. I didn't quite understand why he employed you if I'm being honest—but I see it now."

"See 'it,' my lord?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It's rather clear why my brother is so taken with you."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Taken?"

Thor shrugged. "Surely I've not betrayed some secret. You must see it for yourself."

The look she'd taken earlier remained frozen in her face for a moment, even as she looked off to the side—though he swore he saw a glimmer of sadness creeping in. And when she glanced back at him, there was an uncertainty in her eyes, as though she doubted the words she wished to say. "I don't know if that's quite what he is," she murmured with a smile, almost shakily. "But I'm sure it will pass."

Thor's brows pinched confusedly. "Pass?"

Aila shook her head again, as though shaking the thought away. "This… thing. I'm sorry, I'm being unclear. This isn't anything to worry about."

"I worry for my brother for many reasons, you aren't one of them."

She waited for a moment before responding, and that same uncertainty appeared in her features once again. "I should go," she muttered quietly.

"Of course," Thor bowed his head to her slightly.

He waited for a time for Aila to disappear down the hall, then went about his own way through the castle. First to relinquish his armor and weapons for the day, and it'd grown dark by the time he was finished. Stopping by the library, where he often found Loki, Thor sauntered in and found his brother down one of the aisles—hovering over a record book by the soft, dim glow of a lantern.

"Loki," he said.

Loki barely glanced in his direction as he scratched away with a quill—he simply muttered, "Brother."

"I've just seen Aila." The writing stopped, and Loki's eyes sliced to him.

"Care to elaborate on why this should interest me?"

Thor rolled his eyes. "Are you aware that her birthday is approaching in two days' time?"

"Her birthday?'

"Indeed."

Loki looked off to the side. "No, I wasn't aware of that." He glanced back dubiously. "And she shared that with you?"

"It was contextual, but yes."

"And what context was that, brother?"

"Calm yourself." Thor chuckled. "I merely saw her in the hallway outside the arena."

Loki appeared unsurprised. "I see." He rose from his chair, and strode past Thor, pausing to look back at him. "Are you coming?"

"Coming?"

"With me," he said. "I shall have a word with mother."

* * *

Loki asked me to return to him, just after his first night in the catacombs, mumbling something about it being an accursed place… Naturally, I agreed. And while our ruse with Lydia continued for several days in tandem, there hadn't been much progress as a whole. We discussed it at length with his mother, wherein he surmised that the whole operation had been far more controlled than he'd anticipated. Not much room for a loophole to use against the Alfather. Queen Frigga was unhappy with our progress as well, though she seemed far from surprised by it.

The days went by as they did before, but there was little that could have prepared me for the smaller differences that time bore now. It was strange, this never-ending cross between the days when Loki had kissed me, and those he didn't. I could count with the fingers of just one hand how many times he'd done it—exactly twice.

A week had gone by since that night in the catacombs, and he hadn't touched me. Though that did not mean that I didn't notice the way his hands tensed when he neared me in the mornings, the way his eyes purposefully hardened to hide the softness when he looked upon me. The strain in his voice the time I'd accidentally brushed by him across the room, and the weighted rise and fall of his chest in the brief instant that his eyes fell to my chest.

It was all maddening.

I did my best, I truly did, to relent in my own affections. Clearly, the prince was attempting to do the same. We hadn't spoken of it, but there was a tacit agreement that pushing the boundaries could only lead to a fate worse off. And the memory of our night in the catacombs was sufficient to suppress the... feeling... that arose each time I looked at Loki.

Whether it was from near, from afar... it was inexplicably pleasurable to simply look at him. At the darting movements of his eyes when he wrote, his regal posture. The sound of his voice... To be back in his employment was, all at once, a blessing and a curse. And the very act of going back to it made clear that neither of us knew what we were doing—though we knew what we were doing to ourselves.

My run-in with Thor was refreshing, at least. Each day that I spent in Loki's company brought me closer and closer to a truth I didn't want to face: I was so stupidly impartial to the younger prince. I didn't dare call it love, for how many problems would that create, exactly? Save for the glaring one—that a slave would not, and could not hold the interest of a prince for long.

Apart from that, I'd run into Thor during a continued attempt at preparation to escape Asgard—observing himself and his Warriors Three in a fight—and spent the later hours of the evening with a phantom, and a projected sword fitted to my height and weight (though of course, it could not cut). There was no more dancing for me, these days… And with Loki's unwitting instruction, my magic had improved significantly, to where the phantom could flow of his own accord, based on my deepest memories of the training arena. Ones that even I could not recall outwardly.

I hadn't told Davos of my resumed employment, either… though I wager he'd guessed it. Sensed my doubt. He had never asked me for more, never asked me to call myself his, but perhaps there was something implicit that needed to be let go—if I chose to stay in Asgard.

_If…_ And if I stayed, what would that mean for Davos?

_Ugh._

I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I bent over the kitchen counter, waiting for Loki's dinner to be handed to me. Today was my birthday, but I hadn't told him—I hadn't told anyone at all, save for Thor. I fully intended to deliver Loki's dinner, and be off to the catacombs early tonight. It was my first year without my mother, and I was hardly in the mood for discussion with anyone—not even the prince.

The door creaked heavily as I stepped inside, surprised to see the flickering tongues of the fireplace illuminating an empty chamber. I sauntered toward the table slowly, and paused at the small note resting on the glossy surface. Setting the tray down carefully, I picked it up—staring for a moment at the elegant penmanship spelling out my name.

_Aila_

I opened the note.

_When you are finished eating, wait until eleven, and then come to the library. _

The library? I furrowed a brow at the instructions, and then glanced down at the food. A whole pheasant, blackberry sauce and an assortment of vegetables… My mouth watered at the thought of it, but naturally, I left half for the prince.

The palace was silent at this time of night, as was the library. The rows stood tall and dark on either side of me as I strode down them, following the single source of light flickering at the far end of the comfortably sized hall. Three figures murmured amongst themselves at the lounge area nestled on the loft, beside the window comprising the furthest wall.

The voices fell silent as I ascended the stairs, coming up on the platform where the two princes and their mother sat. The Queen was nestled comfortably on the couch beside Thor, a small wrapping in her hands, while Loki leaned on a small table nearby. Three pairs of eyes fell on me as I stepped onto the platform.

* * *

Loki watched as Aila as she strode up to them. Against his advisement, the Queen had chosen to divulge their plans to Thor. Granted, he didn't suspect that his brother would reveal them to Odin, but he greatly disliked the nonchalance with which she told him. By the look he received in the end, even Thor knew that the idea had very little merit. The establishment of slaves in Asgard was too great a tightly wound endeavor—it would not come apart so easily.

"Aila," the Queen smiled as Aila sauntered in. "Very nice to see you this evening."

"Likewise, Almother." She bowed, looking toward Loki as she straightened up. He wasn't altogether smiling, but there was a soft amusement weighing heavily in his expression—he was quite enjoying the anticipation of what was about to happen.

"I've heard it was your birthday today," the Queen said, and Aila glanced at Thor in the process, who looked back with a contented expression. "And that you used to join your mother about in the palace at late hours of the night."

"I—yes."

"How old are you, my dear?"

"One hundred and twenty seven."

"One hundred and twenty seven years you've been in this world. Yet we've only known you for a matter of months." The Queen looked between her sons. "It may not be that long of a time, but I believe the imprint you've left in this family deserves commemoration."

Loki held back a smile as his mother lifted her hands, holding the wrappings out to Aila, who knelt before the Queen.

"What is this?" She looked down at them.

"A belonging of yours, that should never have been taken from you."

Aila stared up at her, and Loki saw the very moment the comprehension had dawned on her—mixed with a twinge of disbelief. Aila had only ever _owned_ one thing, after all.

Her hands moved delicately as she unfurled the wrappings, and paused mid-movement when their contents were revealed. A small, ornate music box laying in the Queen's palms. Fingers still pinching the fabrics, Aila merely stared down at it for a moment, a thin sheen of wetness covering her widened eyes.

Finally, she took it, and fell back in a seated position as she stared down at it. And without a hint of a sound, she turned her face away from the Queen, and from Loki. Only Thor could really see her expression from where she sat, until she covered her eyes and the dripping tears were left to betray it.

"_How…_" she breathed out incredulously, looking back down at the music box. The moment she opened her eyes, tears spilled from them. "_How did you know about this?_"

"This was taken from your mother's belongings the day she died," Frigga answered kindly.

"—and I have ears everywhere," Loki added, schooling his features when Aila met his eyes, though he froze at the way she stared, the way her body tensed.

"This is a very special device," his mother continued, her tone laced with a subtle understanding. "Isn't it?" Aila looked back at her. "I'd like you to show me."

Aila remained still as she seemed to considered it for a moment, until a look of security spread across her features, as she stared up at the Queen. Almost as though the two were conversing in a language unfamiliar to her sons. Slowly, Aila covered the top of the music box with one hand, and cradled it with the other. The thinnest sheen of seidr spread across her skin, and… she hummed. Seven notes.

When she removed her hand, the lid opened of its own accord. Her fingers drifted away from the music box, as though winding through a net of thread they could not see, and a second voice spun from the device in a soft, angelic tune. Whispering the words in a language he could not understand.

His lips parted when he finally understood—it must have been her mother's voice.

By the way that tears flooded Aila's eyes, to where she could no longer sing along to the foreign words, he was right…but what was the language? Loki suppressed a thoughtful shake of his head as he studied her for a moment, finding he couldn't recognize her origin by appearance alone. Nor by the language she'd spoken.

Still, the question began to gnaw at him—_just who is she?_

"Thank you," she whispered at the song's end, and a smile tugged at Loki's lip, at the affection brimming in her eyes. Her gratitude was palpable.

"We can keep that in my chambers, if you'd like. No one will take it there, and you can listen to it any time you like."

"It's like…having her here," Aila whimpered, nearly losing control of her voice. "I don't know how to thank you. I don't deserve this kindness."

"You deserve it, my dear. More, even," Frigga said. "Truly. I would not say it if I did not mean it."

"Forgive me for betraying your secret, lady," Thor chimed in with a smile. "I do know my family best, however—I did not think I would come to regret it."

"It's alright," she said, shaking her head. "_There's nothing to forgive._"

Loki disliked the way that Thor chuckled at that last statement, but let it lie when his mother stood, and beckoned for him to leave with her. After a final round of wishes, the two of them left the library together, leaving Loki and his slave alone in the vast hall, wherein he sauntered to the couch where his mother sat, and lowered himself down before the slave.

Aila remained where she was, now smiling brightly as she brushed invisible specks of dust off the music box.

"Aila," he said, and her eyes darted up to him—so quickly, that he forgot what he was about to say.

"You did this," she whispered, gazing up at him.

He merely stared, utterly taken by the strength of her gaze, and bobbed his head slightly.

The smile faded from Aila's expression, her happiness making room for a warmer glow as she set the music box down beside her. Loki's breath froze in his lungs as she moved toward him slowly, rising from her heels. It stayed frozen as she laid two hands on his knees, and inched higher up off the ground. His boots scraped as his legs parted, making room for her instinctually as she laid her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him back. Back against the couch, against the pillows, she crawled atop and straddled him in a swift movement, pressing against him until there was no room left between their bodies.

Her touch was _heaven._

Aila's hand entangled in his hair while the other ran up his neck, and her lips moved against his, demonstrating the softest tendrils of her affection. They were warm and damp and soft against his—_oh how he'd missed them—_and Loki ran his hands along her sides, biting back a groan at the way her hips pressed against him. He relished even the sounds of each gentle smack of her mouth, each time she turned her face to kiss him a different way.

"_Aila…_" he managed to mutter when her breath grew shallow, her kiss more heavy and aggressive against his lips. _Gods…_ he wouldn't hold long like this. Arousal was cutting through him with a feral madness, and there was this beautiful woman straddling him.

No. Not just any beautiful woman—it was _her_.

_"Aila," _he repeated.

"_What?_" she breathed out, eyes still closed as she resumed kissing him. His breath grew heavy as the last of his will dwindled, succumbing to her temptation. But he couldn't—no, he couldn't. He remembered the very first time he'd considered this, considered _her_, and the words that crept through his thoughts—'_it would mean death for the girl.' _

"_Aila, we can't…_"

"_We can." _Her hand slipped down between his legs, and Loki cocked his head back against the couch, pinching his brows together as his self control gnawed at the string it hung by, biting and claw at it as her lips trailed down his neck. And even atop his clothes, the touch of her hand encouraged the tense swaths of pleasure in his groin.

"_No." _He couldn't. _"Aila, stop…" _

Her movements slowed, ceasing seconds later as she finally pulled away from him—_thank the gods_. Though the minute her lips disappeared from his neck, he wished them back again, and barely moved for several moments after.

"You don't want me?" Her voice came out as a whisper.

Loki managed a sigh, eyes remaining closed as his head stayed cocked against the couch. His hand crept over to hers, which was still between his legs, and gave it a squeeze. "Is that what this tells you?"

"_Then…why?_"

He opened his eyes, and looked up at her face. "You would be executed for it."

"No one needs to know—"

"We would know," he murmured, "I can't risk it."

"Who would we tell?" she asked, removing her hand as the heat cooled between them. "And why?"

"I can't think straight about that right now," Loki muttered hazily.

Aila stared at him for a moment, and her shoulders dropping a bit as she removed herself from his lap, her body replaced by a coldness that he hated. "Perhaps it's for the best, then…"

Loki stared at the ceiling. "For now."

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Aila was the first to stand. "I suppose I should go." Loki cast his eyes toward her, not helping the way they raked over her form, before reaching her eyes. "Good night… Prince."

Loki couldn't quite put his finger on her tone, and merely stared up at her as she turned, and walked away. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured as she took the first step.

She paused, and looked back at him—expressionless at first, until a hint of a smile graced her lips. "Tomorrow."

Something tightened in his chest as she disappeared down the stairs, and Loki listened to her footsteps until they too, were gone.

* * *

**Hints. Hints everywhere. Some of you guys are so smart, picking up on them so aptly. Even the one-worders. I give you a mental fist bump every time I see it, though I can't directly address it in my AN for obvious reasons. ;) **

**F****un fact, the music box is inspired by the one from Anastasia, because I grew up loving that movie (and, being Russian myself, I love me my Anastasia. Queeeeen of my liiiiiife). I'm partially also starting to feel really bad for torturing Loki like this, but what can I say? I love me some slow burn. Which is why**** I'm stupidly excited to write the next chapter. It's going to be a special one-super exciting for so many reasons. **

**Also. Bit of personal news, since these ANs are basically my "secret" journal now. I GOT MY BOOK COVER! I saw it and cried a little bit (don't tell my social media). It's every bit as soft, romantic, lil bit scary and dash of mysterious that my book is hopefully going to to be. I'm just on cloud nine these days. Also super busy, but... for Lower Your Eyes, right in this moment, I'm really excited to write the next chapter. So I'll see you all back here when it's up. :) Til next time!**


	13. Chapter 13: Leaving, Only to Return

**_I'm back! :) _**

* * *

_You would be executed for it._

His words echoed through my mind again and again, over the weeks that passed.

When I walked down the stairs of the library that night, the resulting air between us was hardly what I expected would follow. It grew cold and distant since the night of my birthday—a stark contrast to where I thought things were headed. The Prince neither touched nor approached me again, and the faintest look of disapproval was in his eyes each time I stepped too close. He required less of me on a day-to-day basis, and I saw less of his face in general. Quite literally, as he always seemed to find a reason to turn away from me.

Slowly but surely, I began to understand his intentions. With every cold, sidelong glance and absent remark, I began to understand his intent to keep me at arm's length.

The Prince began spending more and more time at his desk—just as he did in the very beginning—but never deigned to tell me what he was working on. Nor did he ask me to go to the library to pick up tomes, or even accompany him.

Yet, he was always at his desk. Always with a new stack of tomes, and a pile of papers.

Just as he was now, one month later.

_One cold, lonely month…_

I looked over at him, realizing just how well I'd gotten to know his backside. I sighed as I held a book up in my hand, wondering if he preferred it to stay on his end table, or to be put back onto the bookshelf. Even if I asked him now, I knew the answer would be clipped and abrupt.

It was more than I could bear in the moment, and I circled around the bed to set it back on the shelf.

"Aila?" he suddenly said, without turning to look back at me.

I faced him, surprised to be spoken to. For the past month, whenever he delved so deeply into his work, he rarely spoke to me. "Yes, Prince."

"I would like you to accompany me to the meeting tonight."

I blinked at him. "Meeting?"

"The final treaty signing of the warring realms. Go to the wardrobe and fetch the robes on the second hanger from the left."

There was a pause. My heart sank a bit, still feeling the sting of being spoken to so coldly. Daring to attempt a venture into a conversation, I asked, "Is that what you've been working on? Something for the meeting?"

"Don't concern yourself with that. Please just do as you're told."

"Alright," I sighed, turning and heading toward it. The hangers slid against the metal pole as I procured the robes, eyeing them curiously. "This is…what is this?"

"A scribe's apparel."

"Why do I need to wear this?"

Loki continued writing, and from where the lamplight fell on his face, I could see the utter neutrality in his expression. "Because the Alfather does not like to have slaves present in these meetings. If you're to accompany me, then I will not have you dressed as one."

"Why do I need to accompany you?"

"Because I've asked you to come with me." Loki stopped writing and glanced at me for a moment, as though checking to see if I was getting ready. "I would like you to be there for it."

"Why?"

"Aila…" He sighed. "Please, you will find out when we go. Be ready to leave within the hour."

There was a pause. "Alright," I answered, and Loki continued to watch me as I put the robes down on the bed. I left my tunic in its place once I was finished changing, and waited as he gathered the pile of paperwork he'd been scribbling at the entire day.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked without looking at me, walking across the chamber.

"Erm—no," I murmured, following him out into the hallway. He turned to lock the door, and I saw him press his lips together. "Loki, I—"

"Prince," he interrupted softly, stepping past me in the hallway. "Any time we leave my chambers, you must refer to me as 'Prince.'"

I swallowed thickly. "Only outside them?"

He slowed, glancing at me over his shoulder as he said softly, "We would both do well to become accustomed to it, for now."

Not exactly an answer…but I watched as he continued walking, my heart sinking in my chest. "Yes, Prince," I murmured, and followed after him.

The meeting hall had some of the tallest windows I'd seen throughout the grounds. Each time I had been in this room, I couldn't help but wonder how they managed to procure the tall slates of glass. And at the bottom of the hall, the conference table stretched from nearly one wall to the next.

My understanding was that the attendees required the use of seidr to speak loudly enough to one another—one of the many areas of training I'd also neglected these past few weeks.

Frigga wasn't present for this meeting, but Thor was to attend, along with Odin. I followed Loki to the center of the hall, near the end of the table where he was to sit. The quiet hum of murmuring voices echoed throughout the massive space, but he remained silent—and I tread silently behind him. I dared to raise my eyes from the ground, looking at his backside. His black curls moved over his shoulders as he perused the pages in his hands, turning the corner and setting them down on the table.

"Loki!" A voice addressed him suddenly. My eyes fell back to the floor as the Prince turned, smiling at the man who approached him from the other side.

"Falkreth," he grinned fondly at the man. "How are you, friend?"

"Aching to be finished with this already."

"It hasn't even started."

"Precisely."

Loki laughed. "Well, you're a guest of Asgard for the week," he said humorously. "I would personally endeavor to make this as short as possible."

"Excellent. Dremor and Talin will be here any moment as well," Falkreth looked at the golden chairs, and placed a hand on the one beside Loki's. "Are the seats assigned?"

"No, not at all."

"Right, we'll save these two for them. How long since you last saw them?"

Loki chuckled. "About as long ago as I last saw you—seven months at least, I believe?"

"Indeed," Falkreth glanced at me, "I apologize—were one of these seats for your scribe?"

"No, she is my serving woman," the Prince said without looking at me.

"Ah," Falkreth nodded, looking me over. "Very nice to meet you, madam." I merely nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground. He looked back at Loki, "Why does she not speak?"

"My father would be displeased to hear that one of the slaves engaged with a nobleman," Loki answered dryly.

His friend tilted his head, glancing at me expectantly. "Do I detect a hint of bitterness?"

"Let's change the subject," the Prince answered. And I was impressed to hear how comfortable he was with the man. They must have been good friends.

Falkreth gave me a final glance. "Of course. Come, let's sit. They're about to begin."

True enough, other diplomats had begun to enter the chambers. A number of scribes as well, and servants bringing in light food and wine.

"Aila?" Loki called for me.

"Yes, Prince." I stepped up to him.

"You will wait by the window over there, with the rest of the servants and scribes."

"Of course."

Without another word, he pulled the golden chair out and sat down in it. I strode down the length of the conference table, watching as other diplomats began to fill their seats. Chief among them were Odin and Thor, and I dared a quick glance in Thor's direction as I passed by him. He offered a kindly smile that warmed my heart, and made me feel like I still had a single close friend left within the palace. Save for Davos, and save for the Queen. With Lady Frigga's general absence these past few weeks—I had really only seen her in passing—my gratitude was unending, for her role in returning my mother's music box.

The rain had lightened up outside, but streams of water still trickled down the windows as I approached them. The warm, ambient glow of the torches contrasted sharply against it. Heels clicked and shoes padded all around me, and I stopped next to one of the torches, watching as the rest of the guests assembled.

The very last of them were the emissaries from Niflheim. Dressed for the harshest winter, they were tall, hardy people. Three men to be exact, and at their head was a more frightening-looking warrior than Thor. I'd first heard of these emissaries some months back, while serving Loki's table at a luncheon.

I shuddered at the memory of what followed—the intrusion in the bath house by the most vile nobleman among them. My seidr had nearly been found out that day.

_"__The King of Niflheim…"_ I heard one of the scribes whisper to another. I sifted to the back of the small group, if only to be able to look upon their faces without being apprehended.

The king's hair was long and black, greying in certain areas, but his face was young—thoughtful. Feline even, but not in the same way as Loki's. Something about him made my skin crawl, though I couldn't put my finger on why.

Odin stood for the man, and greeted him along with the guests. "Veris," he addressed the man by name. Odin's voice was perfectly loud and clear, and I could sense the vibration of seidr in the air.

"Odin," the man's voice boomed in turn, as his men sat on either side of him, at the opposite end of the table. He stood for a moment, looking around the hall. "This place is exactly as I remember it."

His eyes fell to me, and I looked away.

"It's good to have you back," Odin said, addressing the rest of them next. "All in all, I anticipate great progress to result from tonight's assembly."

"Progress indeed," King Veris said. "We have all agreed to sign the treaty, have we not?"

_"__The first treaty between Niflheim and Asgard since the war—it'll finally be signed…" _a scribe whispered again. I glanced at them, then turned my attention back to the table.

"First, we will discuss the terms, and be sure that all matters are distributed fairly," Odin said. "Let's open with the trade routes surrounding Midgard…"

One by one, I waited and watched—and listened—as they went through the terms of the treaty. A process which took the better half of the following hour, until the final section was reached: war slaves.

"A dreary matter," King Veris droned. "Let's get on with this."

"I've no intention to linger," Odin said. "All has been arranged, according to the previous—"

"I would like to propose an amendment," Loki suddenly spoke up. Silence cut through the air, and my heart jumped in my throat when I saw him stand, sifting through the pages on the table. "Forgive me gentleman, if I could have a moment more of your time. I've compiled some information on the economic prospects of Asgard with and without the use of slaves—per the results, I propose they be returned to their homes, or otherwise freed."

My jaw slackened, heart racing, and there was silence throughout the hall.

"No," Odin replied abruptly. "Loki, this matter was arranged long ago."

"Did you not preface this assembly with a statement on the 'fair' distribution of the elements of this treaty?"

"I doubt that you have brought a new, compelling reason for your argument—apart from what you've approached me with over the past few months."

My jaw slackened at hearing about Loki's efforts.

Falkreth looked up at his friend, and rose from his chair. "Alfather, I have the utmost respect for your word as law. But might we not discuss the merits of Loki's claim? Listen, at the very least, to what he has brought us today?"

The Prince looked at him, and nodded in gratitude. My heart froze as the Alfather glanced in my direction, but said nothing in turn. Loki continued, "After so many years, our presence at this table represents the prospects of a peaceful future. This night will go down in history, this much we can be certain of. Together, we constitute a future in which the realms cooperate, and understand one another."

He looked around the table, and continued. "We all know that the purpose of the war slaves was to punish those who transgressed the laws of Yggdrasil. But a new generation has been born and raised amidst the bloodbaths of their predecessors—pointlessly. We have no more need for such brutal renderings of the Alfather's laws, when we are all in full compliance of them. This treaty represents that compliance. Here, I present my calculations on the economic impacts of freeing the populace, and believe you will all come to the same conclusions as I. Therefore, I implore the signees to abolish the practice altogether."

Silence hardened in the room.

It remained there for some time, broken by the sound of King Veris' laughter."Skulking creatures, they are," he said, still draped in his chair. "You forget, young prince, that Niflheim also possesses war slaves. Generations upon generations, as we began collecting them earlier in the war than anyone else here. What would you have _us_ do? Who will take up such work in their stead?"

"I would have you accommodate, and abolish the practice," Loki answered sharply, "following Asgard's example."

"There will be no such example, Loki," Odin interjected. "There are far too many implications. Too many to be discussed in this short period—there have been dozens of meetings that led to this one. Each facet of the treaty has been carefully planned, and a framework established. For now, the slaves will remain part of that framework."

"You have not considered my proposals," Loki pushed the papers toward him, "Why not allow them to contribute to the realms in other ways?"

"Because they cannot. They have bred themselves into the lowest ranks of intellect," King Veris said. My eyes widened as I looked at him, wetness coating them, and I struggled to refrain from scowling at him. _Vile bastard._ "Have you not seen them for yourself, young prince?"

Loki's voice dropped low, "Of course I have. Why else would I be standing here?"

"I cannot agree to these terms," Veris answered. "Forgive me, Alfather."

"Nothing to forgive. The proposal will not be considered. Sit down, Loki."

Loki gritted his teeth, "Alfather, I—"

Odin's voice rumbled menacingly, "Sit. Down." Loki turned his head slowly to the Alfather, who looked up at him harshly. They stared at one another for a time until he slowly lowered back down into his seat, fists clenched tightly on the table. "Now, we sign."

A few loose tears spilled like hot droplets down my cheeks, and I quickly swiped them away. The signing process took a bit of time, and it was just enough for me to calm myself down. Enough to make it through the tail-end of the meeting, at least.

Loki remained seated as the rest of the diplomats stood to leave, and I slowly made my way toward him once more. The scribe robes emboldened me when I tread past King Veris, and my eyes cut like razors from behind my amber waves. He furrowed a brow when he looked down at me, and I held his gaze as I went by. It took a moment to realize that there was something strange in his expression, though I couldn't make it out.

As I drew near, I could see that Loki's knuckles were white with tension. I aimed to keep a distance until the Alfather left, but even then, three of Loki's friends—Falkreth included—crowded around him before I had the chance to speak to him.

"It was a good attempt, my friend." Falkreth said.

"Thank you." Loki rose from his chair, glancing at me as I circled around the group, to the other side of the table.

"Come out with us tonight."

He shook his head. "No. I'm hardly in the mood."

"I'm well aware," Falkreth answered sympathetically. "That's why I offered. Come, drink and forget your troubles for a time. We visit the realm so rarely, after all."

The four of them looked at one another, and I swallowed thickly as Loki glanced in my direction, with the slightest hint of exhaustion permeating the void. Finally, he sighed. "Alright."

His friend nodded, patting his shoulder as he threw me a sad look. "Come."

"One moment," Loki said as he turned to me. "Aila, you will return to the chambers and finish your chores. Afterward, you are excused for the night."

I couldn't help the frown that pulled my lips downward, pressing them together as I fought back the tears. Four pairs of eyes watched me—I could _feel_ them all watching me—until I nodded, and they finally turned to leave.

After they were gone, I was slow to leave the hall. Slow to return to Loki's chambers, slow to finish my chores.

I cried at first, unable to hold back the tears, but a string of rationalization made way for the realization that the immediate reality of the world simply hadn't changed. Nothing changed from this night, at all. And in fact, it was unreasonable to believe that anything could have happened differently. I understood why Loki wanted me to attend, even if it hadn't ended the way he wanted it to, but I almost wished that he didn't invite me. The false hope was a cruel imposition, even if it was well-meant.

He must have been confident that he would be heard.

Toward the end, King Veris' remark was what continued to sting the most, though even that was beginning to numb.

Altogether, I was numb.

Numb to Loki's treatment of me.

Numb to my status as a slave…

Simply numb.

The fire continued burning well into the night, which was when I finally finished my chores, having been moving slower than usual. By that point, it was getting late, and Loki hadn't returned. Even for him, it was later than usual, though it was hardly my responsibility to think twice on that. He was an adult, and a Prince of Asgard. The man could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to.

Still, I wanted to leave him something for his return. And once the thought occurred to me, it didn't relent—not until I found myself headed to the palace kitchens, where the palace air was cool and mollifying around me. I enjoyed it thoroughly as I prepared the beverage myself. Afterward, I brought it back up to his chambers on a tray, and arranged it on the table where he would easily see it, along with a large decanter of water. I was disappointed to see that Loki still hadn't returned, and began to feel a bit worried…

As I set the glass goblet down beside the decanter, the chamber doors opened and shut behind me.

I jumped at the sound, spinning to see Loki leaning against them.

He closed his eyes, cocking his head back against the heavy wood for a moment. And when he straightened back up, Loki seemed barely able to keep his eyes open as he looked around the room. When they fell on me, he paused.

"You're still here?" His gaze scraped up and down my body, and his face twisted with confusion. "Gods, what on Earth are you wearing?"

My eyes widened a bit at the sight of him. "Um. This is a scribe's uniform—you had me change earlier," I answered, gesturing to the coffee. "Forgive me, my Prince, I was just leaving you with this."

Loki furrowed a brow, and hobbled toward the table. There were a few instances where I thought he might fall over.

_"What is it?"_ he asked earnestly, leaning against the chair and eyeing the coffee, like it was some foreign object that didn't belong on a table.

"It's just coffee," I said, holding my hands out to steady him if he leaned too far. "And water."

_"Oh," _he breathed out with a chuckle.

"Wow," I cringed a bit, smelling the heavy alcohol on his breath. "You've had quite a bit to drink, haven't you? You should drink some of this water."

"Why?" Loki asked. "Why should I do anything at all?"

"Because you're drunk," I answered, looking up at him. "And you're saying things you don't mean."

He furrowed a brow like I accused him of something grave. "What? What have I said?"

"Nothing," I digressed, nudging him toward the edge of the bed, facing the fire. "Sit down. Let's get you some water, and then get you to sleep. I'll stack the pillows so you don't turn over, but try to stay upright for now, and take off your armor."

I turned to the table, and dread filled me—he was in a worse state than I anticipated.

Behind me, I heard him laugh. "I don't take such orders. I am a Prince of Asgard."

I rolled my eyes and faced him, seeing how he tried once—twice, three times—to grip the railing at the end of the bed. With a sigh, I realized that he wouldn't be able to do it on his own.

"Yes, you are a Prince," I said, and he looked at me. "But you're very drunk, and you should try to get to sleep after you've had some water."

Still chuckling, Loki looked down at his armor and pawed at it. "Oh, this ridiculous suit…"

I situated myself between his knees, reaching down to help him. "Here, let me do it."

"You?" he muttered as he looked up at me. It was difficult not to take notice as I pulled apart the strings of his armor and undid the clasps. "Yes, you're always here to help me, aren't you?"

I was close enough to feel his breath on my chest, and it was hard not to let it affect me. "Stay still," I said as I fumbled with one of the more complicated clasps on the armor.

"I don't take orders from you."

"If you were in your right mind, you'd be ordering yourself to do the same."

"Order me again," he said, and I paused. Inches away, he peered back at me through lidded eyes—which, even in this state, were hard and domineering.

_"Stay, Still,"_ I repeated sharply, meeting his challenge.

Silence ensued as Loki stared up at me. He made no sign of moving—nothing to suggest what he had or hadn't planned to do next. After a moment, he began surveying my face like nothing had happened, and I took the chance to finish unclasping his armor, leaving only the thin shirt underneath.

"Don't," he mumbled as I went for his boots. He tried to pull them off at first, but struggled to get them undone.

It took seconds for me to unlace them instead, and to pull them off. Loki watched as I set them down and approached the table again, filling the goblet with water once more. "Here," I returned it to him, "drink this."

His eyes remained fixed on me as he reached out and took it, finishing it in one go, and then handed it back to me.

_"Alright…"_ I sighed after setting the goblet back down, and looked toward the bed.

Loki remained at the edge, staring at the fire as I came around the other side of it, arranging his pillows so that there would be little room for him to roll onto his back. Even as I did so, the realization sank in that there was no sure way to prevent him from rolling over, other than to watch over him myself. Perhaps I could leave in the morning, once I knew he was in the clear…

"Come on," I said as I approached him again, holding my hands out to help him down onto the bed. He waved them away. "Don't you want to sleep?"

"No," Loki said as he hauled himself up abruptly, forcing me back a few steps. "That's not what I want to do."

Firelight flickered against his features as he peered sullenly at me. Somewhere below, I felt fingers brushing against mine, and I looked down to see his hand reaching out for mine. With a bit of a wobble, he pulled me in to him, his arm slinking around my waist while the other hand entangled in my hair.

We stood there for some time. And for a while, it was a warm, quiet embrace—until he finally chuckled. "Can you forget that all this happened?" he asked as he pulled away. "This whole day?"

I offered a grin, whispering, "Sure."

"Good." His lips quirked into an approving smile, eyes roving slowly downward. "Are…there other things you might forget?" Loki lifted a finger, and touched it to my neck. I tensed, barely managing a stutter as I looked down at his hand, sliding further and further, until it hooked onto my cleavage.

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head as I withdrew his hand. "No, Loki. There aren't."

"Why not?"

"You visited this idea once when you were sober, and it didn't end this way. You should be heading to bed now, not making such invitations."

"Oh," he furrowed a brow. "Well, then the tables are turned."

"I don't know what you mean by that," I said, nudging him back toward the bed. "But this night needs to end for you."

His knees bumped against the edge, and he plopped down. "Why do you ruin my fun?"

"Is this your idea of fun?" I turned to pour him another goblet of water. He took it without question, drank the contents, and set it on the end table.

"Yes—it can be."

"No," I shook my head as I approached him, nudging him by the shoulder. "It cannot."

"There's a bottle of liqueur in the second drawer of the wardrobe," he said. "We can forget it all together."

"Now isn't the time to be forgetting things, Loki." He scuffled a bit as I tried to herd him closer to the pillows. He looked so confused, so utterly uncomprehending of why I was doing it—at that point, I couldn't help but chuckle. "It's time for you to go to bed."

"No. It's never time for anything, Aila," his voice dropped low. "It's never time for anything at all. You regularly invade my thoughts, every gods forsaken day—is it ever time for that?"

"Well, I'll try my best to avoid that in the futur—"

"Was it time before, as well?" I stopped trying to push him toward the pillows, and stared. "Was it time when we were alone that night? Would it have changed anything?"

My jaw dropped. He was referring to our night at the library. "Yes, Loki. It would have changed a lot of things."

"And what would those be? Aside from having you outside my thoughts, what would it have changed?" He leaned toward me. "Tell me."

"We would have crossed a line better left untouched."

"Do you think _you're _better left untouched, by me?" his voice rumbled, and his hand appeared on my knee. "Is that what you think?"

My breath hitched in my throat, and I suddenly realized how close I'd gotten while trying to usher him toward the pillows. "I—"

"Do you have any idea—" His hand slid up the side of my leg, and I gasped as Loki's other arm snapped around my waist, pulling me onto his lap—just as we were that night. "—_any_ at all, of the things I wanted to do to you that night?" he hissed against my neck. "They were unspeakable."

I couldn't bring myself to pull away immediately, but my hands readied themselves on his shoulders anyway, while his hardness pressed against me from below. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. "You're drunk, I won't do anything with you."

"You're right about that," Loki said as he leaned forward and kissed my jaw. My hand speared through his hair, aiming to pull him away against the behest of the growing impulse. It fought with me as he kissed his way down my neck, my chest, all the way down to my cleavage.

_"No,"_ I breathed out, finally finding the will to pull him away from my skin.

Loki peered up at me through lidded eyes. _"Take off your clothes,"_ the command rolled off his tongue with a groan, his hands roving up and down my body.

I shook my head, trying to slither off him. _"N-No…"_

"Don't you want me?" he drawled, and I stuttered—a bit stunned by the question. His lips quirked upward. "Then _take off your clothes."_

"I won't," I answered sharply, and finally pulled out of his grasp. "L-Lay down—right now."

Loki stared for a moment, and finally obeyed. His eyes remained on me as I grabbed the goblet next, and drank some of the water myself.

"Are you going to leave me?" he asked.

I turned to face him, still panting a little. "No, I won't leave you."

"—in Asgard?"

My eyes widened a bit. "Stop thinking about these things," I said, trying to mediate the shakiness in my voice, "and go to sleep."

"Will that make you stay?"

"Well, it certainly won't upset me." I plopped down onto the chair, sighing heavily as I rested my forehead against my palm. "Onto your side and sleep. Now."

It took a moment of vehement refusal to look at him—of looking into the fire, instead—before I saw Loki finally turn over onto his side, out of the corner of my eye.

_Now, to keep him that way…_

I groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**Hi, lovelies. I'm back! Apologies for that hiatus. I was overworked to the nth degree a few months ago, and my stress budget just wasn't allowing me to work on this story. Updates over the next few weeks might be teeny bit spotty as things normalize completely, but I'm officially re-booting this story and getting back to regular posts. **

**I admit, it was a little bit strange coming back to this. I had to reread the first 12 chapters just to do it, and then incorporate a little extra distance into their relationship, to make up for the distance in your minds to this story (I tried to, anyway, also why I did Aila-only POV). I also went back and reread your reviews and binged some Marvel movies to get my inspiration going. I just feel like I'm brushing the dust off these characters and relationships, and I hope this chapter went okay as a starter. Happy Saturday/Sunday to you all. :) **


	14. Chapter 14: Can't Watch Him Touch You

**_To everyone that wrote me to continue this story. :) _**

* * *

_Impossible…_

I repeated the word in my head again and again as I regarded the other slaves. That one single word brought a strange sort of comfort, knowing that disappointment could only live in the same space as hope.

Slaves—that's all we were in Asgard. All we'd ever be. All around me, I watched my people in various stages of their day, some changing into their palace attire, others getting back into the torn up, bloodied rags we always wore in the catacombs.

None of them would ever know how Prince Loki stood for us at the council last night, how he spoke against the Alfather and the king from Nilfheim—King Veris, was it? They would never know the glimmer of hope I felt the moment I realized why Loki had stood from his chair, why he'd asked me to accompany him in the first place—he wanted me to know how he felt, how he saw me.

How he saw _us._

I held my breath a moment and then loosened it, shaking my head as I rose from the bed. This was mindless hope—there was nothing for me at the end of this train of thought, I knew that. But between the time I'd spent waiting for Loki to return to the rest of the night spent sleeplessly in my bed, I struggled to come to terms with all that had happened that day.

Right up to what happened in Loki's chambers…

Changing into my palace attire, I joined the others on my way up the palace. A heavy weight sank in my chest, color rising to my cheeks in contrast as I padded through the empty hallways. Loki probably wouldn't remember the night before, all the…_things_…he'd said in his intoxicated state.

After weeks of giving me the cold shoulder, at that. Keeping a distance, barely minding me the way he used to, and I hardly wanted to remind him of any of it. It was all so confusing—heart wrenching, confusing, and even somewhat bitter. Bitter for the things we couldn't have, for the abuse that would continue on in the palace, unchecked and unchallenged.

If Loki couldn't do it, no one else could.

No one else would care to…

But that didn't matter—I'd thank him for it, anyway.

A low voice drew my attention down one of the adjacent hallways. My eyes snapped toward the familiar sound, footsteps stalking toward me with a harsh wave goodbye to another councilman heading in another direction. Silver eyes met mine, the man's harsh features showing little compassion for all the experience they held.

Mine widened with recognition as King Veris slowed, gaze narrowing distastefully as he looked me up and down. "Lower your eyes, _bitch,"_ he growled.

My throat constricted as I remembered how Loki had stood for me before this man, how he was shot down mercilessly.

_"__Drop dead…" _I barely murmured, turning to continue to Loki's chambers.

The footsteps stopped.

An icy chill shot shot through me, and I barely stumbled as I heard the king turn toward me. My legs felt weak, but I walked on, fear stamping through me as several large steps followed me down the hallway. Loki's chambers weren't so far away now, just down the adjacent hallway ahead—

A firm grip took my shoulder, spinning me around. I mapped the hallways in my mind, _so _close to Loki—to safety. I panicked as King Veris took my collar and raised me to my toes. His hand went to my jaw, gripping my cheeks between hard, callused fingers. At that moment, I was less afraid of who he was and more afraid of how he looked at me, so cold and bitter and domineering. The king turned me abruptly, shoving me back to strike me hard across the face. Stars cut across my right eye, black spots peppering my vision as I fell to the ground.

"Aila!" I heard someone shout my name in the recesses of my awareness, following the sound of something crashing to the ground—a basket?

_Was it Loki? _

_No…_

_Davos. _

He'd been assigned deliveries today…

Hands splayed across me, looking over me for injuries. Not a word of warning was uttered before Davos was kicked right off of me—guards had been called, I realized. Struggling to comprehend what was happening, I barely sat upright before I saw them lifting Davos to his feet. Looking around, the king had gone and Davos was being restrained.

"No—no!" I screeched as one of the guards punched Davos in the stomach. "He didn't do anything! _No, leave him alone!"_

One of the guards held me back, and none of the others reached for me—why weren't they reaching for me? "Stop!" I cried again, but they paid me no mind. It had to be Loki's doing, his protection at work.

When they wouldn't stop, I swung to the guard that held me back, glaring into the eyes that hid behind the metal helmet.

"Why are you punishing him!?" I grabbed at his collar. "He didn't do anything!"

"He offended a guest of Asgard," the guard stated—almost with a touch of understanding. I realized then that his grip on my elbow was far from bruising, despite the fact that I was now looking _him_ in the eye.

"By looking him in the eyes?" I breathed out, Loki's protection emboldening me. My voice fell to a whisper, "Please—_I beg you, _spare him."

I felt the tears rise, falling in a whimper as the guards shoved me aside. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Loki rolled over in his bed, cursing the rays of sunlight that streamed into his chambers. How much had he had to drink last night? He could hardly remember a thing, save for the fact that the evening had gone badly—granted, it wasn't _that_ far off from what he'd expected—and afterward, he'd gone out for a drink and returned utterly inebriated.

And Aila…gods, that woman must have been forced to care for him in that state. Glancing down at his bare chest, Loki vaguely remembered his shirt coming off in a moment of heat some hours ago. So, what was it that had woken him just now? As far as he could tell, the sun wasn't _that_ high up in the sky. It wasn't even breakfast time quite yet, though he might've expected Aila to come back around and check on him…

Loki rolled over again, groaning into his pillow. Seconds passed, and his ears perked at the sound of—_footsteps?_ Yes, those were definitely footsteps pounding up the hallway.

_Not his business,_ he nodded to himself and pulled another pillow over his head.

The peace didn't last.

Loki jerked upright as something pounded against the door—no, _through_ it. Thoroughly startled, the covers fell off him as he shot upright, seeing Aila barrel into the room, tears streaming down her face. Her right eye looked particularly red, even a bit swollen from a distance. All at once, Loki's stomach tightened at the sight of her, panic cutting through him as she fell beside the bed on her knees.

"Aila?" he snapped out of shock—all sense of propriety had momentarily vacated the space.

"It's my fault," she fell to her knees and cried. "Loki, p-please, you have to stop them—"

"W-What?" he muttered, his head splitting painfully from the night before.

"They took him!" she wailed. "They took Davos, Loki, please—"

_"…__Davos?"_ he repeated, blinking hard to focus through the throbbing.

"My…" Aila paused, and for a split second, Loki wondered about the look in her eye. _"My best friend!" _

A putrid, white-hot sensation rolled through his limbs. "What happened?" the words came out more bitterly than he'd intended.

As Aila recounted what had happened moments before, he began to realize exactly what had woken him that morning. All those sounds he'd been hearing had come from down the hall, from her encounter with the guards—and apparently, King Veris himself.

Loki sighed, feeling more concerned with the redness surrounding Aila's eye than her fearful pleas to save that friend of hers—that man he'd seen her in the hallway with the night he'd dealt with Astrid. He was the one that Aila had planned to leave Asgard with.

"Loki," she pleaded, and he stiffened as she took his hand. Shame, fear and guilt were swirling in her expression, as though she understood her own audacity. Beneath it all, she wore the fear and guilt of what had happened outside his room. "Please…I'll never ask you for anything ever again, I beg you—save him!"

"Your friend offended the king of Nilfheim," he said. "It's not within my power to remedy that offense."

"There has to be something you can do," she replied. "Can't you at least_ try?"_

He pressed his lips together.

"Isn't that what last night was about?" Aila went on boldly—more so than he'd ever seen her. Would she ever be this strong in his defense? "You've seen it yourself, you've seen what they'll do to him!"

Images of Aila's bloody backside flashed across his mind, her skin torn to ribbons by the barbed weapons they'd used to beat her with…she'd have died that night, she'd come too close.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "Please leave the room."

She stiffened. "What? Why?"

Loki glanced at her blandly. "I have to change."

Remembering herself, Aila visibly swallowed thickly and rose to her feet. He waited until she left the chambers to change, feeling more annoyed than anything else. Bitter, annoyed, and…something else. Something about the way she fretted over this man had never quite settled right in his stomach. Now the poor fool had gone and offended the king of Nilfheim.

What did she expect Loki to do about it? Moreover, what did she expect him to _want_ to do about it? Loki paused a moment, bitterly reminding himself of what he'd felt the night that she was punished so severely. _Loathe_ as he was to admit it, he understood her current terror. It was conceivable and perfectly founded. Purposeful and acceptable…except that one could only fear so deeply for someone they cared for immensely, and that was not something he felt inclined to think on at the moment.

When Loki entered the hall, Aila jumped from the ground where she'd been sitting against the wall, tears floating over the glimmer of hope that sparkled in her eyes.

He closed the door gently behind him. "You know I can't promise anything."

"It's alright, know where they took him," Aila said briskly, her voice choking. Without waiting for a response, she took off down the hallway.

Loki followed after her, keeping pace with her steps. Gods, what a foul morning…and for once, Loki was following after Aila instead of the other way around—a ridiculous scenario, by all rights, but Aila evidently knew her way to the dungeons far better than he did. It was lucky to have been so early in the morning, when no one else was around to see him trailing after her.

Aila led him straight to the bowels of the palace, where the cold scent of mildew coated his nostrils the deeper they went. Loki rarely visited this part of the palace for an assortment of reasons, the putrid air being one of them. After all, these weren't the royal dungeons—not where high-level criminals were kept. These were built for wartime captives, and kept afterward for low-level prisoners without the luxuries of heated air and ambient light. These dungeons were cold and desolate—fit for the inhumanities committed against Asgardian slaves.

Aila flinched, staggering to a stop at the sound of a pained cry somewhere in the dungeons. One look at her in the flickering torchlight, and Loki could practically feel the cold shudder that ran down her spine.

_"__Davos!"_ she cried, taking off toward the sound of his voice.

"Aila!" he snapped furiously at her outcry, going after her.

What was she thinking? Even with Loki trailing behind, she could easily be made a hapless fool for such behavior. One blow to the face was all it'd take before he appeared around the corner.

Such was the case, though he appeared in time to stop it. Loki turned the corner just in time to see a guard raising a hand at her, looking every bit as outraged as he was in his rights to be—a slave had no business doing what Aila was doing.

One flick of his wrist, and the guard's hand paused midair. "None of that," he said to the guard. "Tell me where you've taken the slave she's searching for."

He stiffened at the sight of the Prince, folding under the pressure. Two halls down and to the left—Aila practically ran to the given destination as Loki wiped the guard's memory, dust kicking up beneath her feet as she stopped outside a wooden door. "He's in here!" Aila grappled at the doorknob, pulling it angrily. "It won't budge!"

With another pained cry from inside, fury flashed across her eyes—like nothing Loki had ever seen before—and Aila stepped back. Back straight and proud like a true magician, she flung a spell at the massive lock, gold streaks flying from her fingers with purposeful aim.

It was…beautiful and shocking in tandem. The momentary grace that encompassed her being—and the stupidity of performing seidr in a dungeon full of guards.

And at that, Loki's eyes grew wide, fury and disbelief pounding through him at what he just witnessed. How could she expose herself like this? After all they'd done to protect her, after all it'd meant to keep this a secret…had she even checked to see if anyone was watching?

Aila practically threw the door open, disappearing inside.

With slow, reluctant steps, Loki crept around the corner of the door. Almost immediately, he had to look away from the sight—even for him, it was too much. The bloodied hooks, the poor fool hanging from the ceiling.

He'd seen the desecration of war, but to think that Aila had endured this…

_That she risked everything to save this man…_

There wasn't much time to process as he watched her shove the guard aside to get to Davos, completely unhindered by the sight of his bloodied limbs. She'd used the seidr to accomplish that too, her given strength unnatural for someone her size.

Loki raised a hand to his brow, sauntering to the guard's side, his features tight as he watched Aila fuss at Davos's locked wrists. By the look on the guard's face, he'd also realized that something wasn't quite right about the woman that pushed past him just now, how she'd shoved him aside with barely any effort.

Before the guard noticed his approach, Loki swung an arm out to meet the man's throat. "You'll remember nothing," he said, magic bleeding from his fingertips. "Leave. Now."

The guard swayed in place, then hobbled toward the door, as though he'd been struck in the head.

Meanwhile, chains rattled as Aila tried to get Davos down. _"I'm here,"_ she whispered through her tears, though he seemed unconscious to begin with—alive, but completely unresponsive. _"I'll get you out…" _

"Aila," Loki began, aiming to tell her that they needed to key—or that she needed to step out of the way so he could handle this. At that moment, he was both annoyed and deeply disturbed by the entirety of the scene. Once more, he couldn't get those images out of his head—of Aila hanging by her wrists in such a fashion…

Davos coughed suddenly, blood spilling from his mouth. _"No,"_ she whimpered, stepping back once more. Before Loki could react at the familiar stance she took, Aila exhaled sharply and sliced the chains off with a swipe of her hand.

Loki was rooted in place, mouth slightly agape—exactly how much had she been learning all this time? All those hours they spent at a distance, what books was she reading and how did she manage to practice? In these past few weeks that they'd been distant, Aila had barely ever come to him with a question or two. Now she'd sliced metal cuffs as though they were butter.

If only to get to the man inside…

Davos slumped to the ground instantly. Aila caught him in her arms, sliding with him onto the filthy floor. _"No, no, no,"_ she repeated again and again, tears streaming from her eyes as she cradled him. One hand went to his cheek, the other carefully held him up without touching the deep gnashes along his frontside.

It was more affectionate than medicinal, and Loki looked back at the doorway bitterly, feeling as though he should step out—give them some privacy, ridiculous as it was. Why had she asked him to come?

Something drew his gaze back to the floor, light flickering against the bloodstained walls. Loki's eyes narrowed as he realized their source—the edges of Aila's fingers, her hands gliding intermittently across the young man's neck and jawline as she wept.

And wept and wept.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though he already knew the answer—but did _she_ realize what she was doing? What she could've been _exposing_ to whoever happened to walk by the cell?

She blinked up at him, the light flickering a bit as her focus wavered. "I'm saving his life," she practically exclaimed. "He's not dying down here, not alone."

"And where did you learn to do that?" he inquired calmly as Aila's eyes fell back to Davos without a response. _"Aila." _

"I read, Loki," she said sharply as she looked up at him. "I read and—" her voice choked as a fresh round of tears began. "I was going to teach him to read, too, and—"

"And what?"

"And that's why he needs to survive. The guards need to forget this happened," Aila said pleadingly. "Can you help us? _Please?"_

Help _us._

So, that's what she called him down here for?

"Can't do that yourself?" he said.

The look of shame as she shook her head cut through him like a knife. "I know this is all my fault," she cried, averting her attention back down to Davos. _"I can't fix it, none of this would've happened if—"_

_If we left,_ were the words Loki expected to hear next. They hung in the air, instead.

This was the man Aila had expected to leave Asgard with, after all—he was the one she'd asked to go with her. Now he was lying bloody on the floor, his wounds healing inch by inch because he'd defended her in her moment of need. Just as he'd done the night her mother died, in a room full of nobles that wouldn't lift a finger in their favor. He'd stepped in and cared for her when Loki didn't—when no one else would.

Perhaps he was worthy of her, after all…

_"__A—Aila,"_ came a weak moan. The man opened his eyes slightly, looking at her with a softness that seemed out of place, given his condition.

Aila let out a sob and another apology, pressing her forehead against his.

"Stop…" Davos whispered, lifting a hand to hers. "Stop."

He was trying to stop her using seidr.

"Be quiet," she shook off his hand and continued healing him. "It's my fault you're in here."

"Never…" he barely managed to shake his head. "Never your fault…"

Loki swallowed thickly, looking away as untold—unfounded—fury gripped him. "I'll manage the guards," he said as he stepped out of the cell. "Don't keep me waiting."

Aila made something of a sound directed at him, but he didn't look back. There was nothing in that cell that he wanted to see.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that wrote to me to continue this. Honestly, with everything going on (for the past year or so on my end), I do know how this story ends and I do have it all mapped out-but the e-mails I've gotten from your reviews are really the only thing that reminded me that this story still even exists. Please don't hate me for taking this long :( or hate me, but still enjoy the story. That's what we're all here for anyway, right? The story. I hope you guys liked the chapter, and thank you again. **


	15. Chapter 15:Who meant for that to happen?

Light flickered against Davos's face as I sat beside him on the ground, leaning against the couch. Glancing over my shoulder, the firelight fell on three of us—on me, on Davos, and on Loki's face, which was covered partially by his hand as he sat at his desk.

Guilt rang through me at the sight of him, but I couldn't place the source. Save for his drunken escapade, he'd been entirely tight-lipped—especially tonight. Though, who could blame him? I'd put him through the wringer tonight, barging into his room the way I did, weeping…

I let out a sigh.

If ever there was a portion of the Prince's sober mind that clung to propriety, he must have thought that my behavior tonight was atrocious. And now that Davos was out of the fire, I'd had time to consider it, too—to see the night for what it was. To see that I'd practically dragged Loki from his chamber. That I took advantage of our—_prior_—closeness to save someone I loved, that I exposed us _both_ to the castle guards in doing so.

And while I knew that Loki would never punish me for it, I began to wonder whether he regretted ever meeting me at all…

I turned back to Davos, brushing a dark curl out of his face, roving over the handsome lines of his eyes and cheekbones. Tears rose to my eyes as I remembered being in his place. The horrible feeling of being bound by the wrists, the abhorrent sensation of my skin ripping like fabric. This was the first time he'd ever been subjected to this level of punishment, and it was all my fault.

Gripping his hand tighter, I lowered my head against the cushion and let the tears spill soundlessly.

Why did we deserve this?

The door opened, and my eyes snapped up as the queen strode in, her older son at her side. Davos was out cold, totally unperturbed by the sounds. Frigga paused at the sight of him, at the bandages sparsely covering his backside. Thor's brows furrowed, eyes slightly widened as he stood rooted in place.

Frigga's lips thinned as she turned her attention to me, eyes glistening as she knelt at my side. "How is he?"

"I couldn't do it all the way," I muttered shakily, looking over his wounds. "This took hours, but I don't think I did it right. Some of them healed…wrong."

A bit askew in some places—in others, the wounds had opened into smaller, adjacent fissures.

"You'll need more practice before you attempt something like this again," she said, looking at me with worry and concern in her eyes. "But this will do, for now."

I looked at her, remembering the time when my mother warned me about the royal family—Loki and the queen, especially. I remembered her warning that they could be deeply offended if they knew of our practices, considering us a defilement of the craft. If she could see me now…

Tears brimmed as a fresh sob escaped me, and I laid my forehead down against the sofa.

"Oh, my dear…" Frigga gathered me in her embrace, cradling me as I wept. Somewhere in the corner, Loki's footsteps approached us, stopping beside his brother—who still hadn't moved.

"I couldn't let him die," my voice choked. "I couldn't let him die, _too."_

"He will not die." She gripped me tighter. "Listen, child, I've prepared something for you."

I pulled away. "W-What?"

Over Frigga's shoulder, Thor's hand moved to Loki's tense shoulder, gripping it tight.

"We will hide your friend in another chamber, where no one will disturb him," the queen replied. "And I will charm the doors so that only one of us will access the room—anyone else that approaches will feel an urgent _need_ to turn away."

My jaw fell. "One of the chambers?" I shook my head. "Which one? Can we really hide him?"

"We can—and I will show you the proper technique to help him recover by morning," she said, looking at Davos. "This is no kindness, my dear. This is what you are _owed._"

Frigga glanced back at her sons, then turned to me. "Come," she said, looking at Davos. "We must move him."

Thor and Loki moved in tandem, lifting Davos slowly by the arms. The queen held out her hand to me, and I took it without fear or fault. "Loki," she demanded as she held the door open, "you know what to do."

Davos was unconscious as they carried him out, disappearing into a thin sheen of seidr that even I couldn't perceive.

"I believe that will work well enough," said Loki, or another version of him that strode past me.

The chamber in question was two floors down from Loki's room, and upon reaching the floor, I understood the secrecy—this was the residential wing of the palace, where guests of Asgard resided during their stay.

"We should be quiet, here," Frigga muttered. "No one will hear, if—"

She was interrupted by the sound of clambering down the hall. Our heads snapped toward the sound—a multitude of footsteps and a female laughing—and my heart stopped for a moment when I thought it was the king of Niflheim coming around the corner. Instead, it was a face that very much resembled his, only young and female.

Tall and lean and proud, she strode down the hall with purpose. With this level of resemblance—the brown hair, silver eyes—this woman had to be his daughter. She couldn't have been anyone else, though she certainly wasn't dressed in the traditional garbs of any young noblewoman. In fact, her attire very much resembled Lady Sif's battle armor, with slightly less metal and a longer skirt trailing to the ground. It was the traditional attire of Niflheim.

She paused around the corner, and what I could only assume was an army of handmaidens stopped behind her. Recognition bloomed across her features as she looked upon the prince and queen.

"Oh—" she smiled broadly, and bowed her head. Certainly better manners than her father had. "Good evening Queen Frigga, Prince Loki." Her eyes sparkled as she regarded him. "It's been too long."

When her gaze fell upon me, I remembered to lower my eyes—though she'd seen it already, so my eyes bounced off the ground and right back up to her. Something passed between us for the second that I held her gaze, though I couldn't quite place it. And being in the presence of the queen and prince, I felt…emboldened. As though I were leading my own minute revolution, a moment of defiance.

"The evening is very pleasant, t-thank you, Lilette," Frigga said, seeming a bit frazzled as she exchanged a glance with Loki's clone. "I hope yours is, as well."

"Asgard's accommodations are more than I could ever ask for," Lilette replied, fastening her attention to Loki. "And how are you this evening, Prince Loki?"

He grinned charmingly. "Couldn't possibly be better," he said. "When did you arrive from Niflheim?"

I looked between them, noting how they spoke as though they'd met before.

"Just this morning," she said. "My father insisted that I attend the solstice celebration."

We'd been briefed about that, as well. The solstice celebration would honor the signing of the great treaty between the realms—the one I'd witnessed just the other day. Preparations for it had actually begun well before the council itself, and the passing of the treaty, I imagined, had thrown the palace into full-scale planning.

I wasn't around all day to witness that.

"It will truly be one to remember," said Frigga, playing the part of the innocent bystander. "We're happy you'll be able to attend, it's nice to see you after all this time. "

"Indeed," Lillette crooned, casting another look in Loki's direction as she bowed. "Good night to you both."

Loki and Frigga bowed their heads in turn, returning the pleasant manners. Though despite her smile, despite the confidence that rolled off of her in waves, her gaze was scorched with cunning curiosity as she strode by me.

I did not—would not—lower my eyes.

And I would not bow my head.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Loki scowled at his brother across the table the following day. "Cease this subject immediately—elsewise, you'll find your hair stained redder than that ridiculous cloak you insist on wearing indoors."

Thor glanced at the wine glass sitting on the table, and then cloak hinged to his shoulder. "I like this cloak."

"My point."

Thor shook his head, leaning against the table. "Hear me out, brother," he said, lowering his voice so that others in the outdoor pavilion could not hear. "I know you were thinking it too, when Lilette turned the corner. You saw mother's reaction, didn't you? I'd thought Aila had left our company and returned—they were the spitting image of one another!"

"Clearly, I don't have to remind you that that is impossible," Loki drawled. "Aila's mother was an Asgardian slave."

"Her father?" Thor insisted. "Who was her father?"

"If it were the king, don't you think he might've noticed the morning he struck her down?"

"Who says he didn't?" Thor went on. "Who says he didn't recognize her the night of the council? Who says it didn't color his opposition to your initiative?"

Loki rolled his eyes as his brother rubbed his jaw, a distant thoughtfulness in his expression. "You and your conspiracies…"

"What I don't understand is how Aila herself couldn't have noticed…"

"She did not notice because there was nothing to see," Loki snapped. "And either way, I'm not so sure she's fond of…mirrors," he said, voice falling to a murmur. "What use does she have for them, in her world?"

"A woman is a woman." Thor shrugged. "Particularly one in love. You saw how she held that boy—"

_"__Ridiculous." _

Thor furrowed a brow. "Why? Why is that ridiculous?"

"Because there is infatuation, and then there is love," Loki snapped. "A visceral, pointless experience that does nothing but endanger and weaken its participants. Who are you to say her intellect would fall so low?"

"What?" Thor reared back. "That's beside the point entirely—I never spoke ill of Aila's intellect, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing's gotten into me."

"Oh, _really?"_

"Yes." Loki sneered as his brother looked him over—silently. "What are you looking at?"

Confusion, amusement, and disbelief warred in Thor's expression_. "No…_" he muttered.

"No what?"

"No—you _can't_ be."

"Can't be what?"

_"__Jealous?"_

Loki grimaced—what a disgusting word. "No," he said, keeping his voice level. "That, I am not."

"Indeed?" Thor chuckled. "That dour demeanor of yours yields the occasional softness, does it?"

With a flick of his wrist, Loki sent Thor's wine spilling all over him and rose from his chair. On his way out of the pavilion, he sent the jug of wine flying for good measure, smiling at the sound of his brother's frustrated groan.

_There is love, and there is infatuation,_ Loki reassured himself.

He was a man, and Aila was a beautiful woman, regardless of her occupation in the palace.

Once upon a time, he had wanted her—and that was the beginning, middle, and end.

At the very least, Loki would have recognized the vapid decline of mental stability necessary for him to fall in love—and any person would have stepped in to help her all those other times, just as he had done. Odin's laws be damned. For all that he had a scheming and deceptive nature, even Loki could never fall as low as the Alfather's honor, driven to the dirt by his treatment of those people.

_"__Gods…"_ Loki rubbed his brow, scowling under his breath as he turned the corner of the hallway.

"Oh—" came a female voice, bumping into him at a brisk pace.

He stumbled back, breath catching slightly at the bright, silver eyes that snapped up to him. "Ai—"

"Your majesty," Lilette instantly bowed her head. "Apologies, I didn't hear anyone turning the corner—suppose my hearing's going."

Loki grinned painfully as he took in her features, acquiescing in the deepest crevices of his mind—they did look alike.

He shook his head. "Not a problem," Loki said, and the gleam of her armor caught his eye. "All is forgiven."

She smiled, realizing he had noticed. "I'm on my way to the fighting ring, you know."

"Is that so?" he muttered. "The only woman I've ever seen in there is—"

"The lady Sif?" Lilette interjected with a confident smile. "Indeed." That smile was the very same, perhaps, that Aila might have worn in another life. "Would you care to join me?"

"Join you?"

"I've always thought it'd be interesting to spar with one of the great princes," she said. "Why not?"

_Great princes._

Loki pressed his lips together in a grin. No matter the person, no matter the situation—that was always a welcome compliment. "I think I'll pass this time, thank you."

"Oh, come now," she laughed. "I insist."

"I doubt your father would be happy to see such a sight."

She rolled her eyes. "My father is a boorish man, pay him no mind."

"Well, I'm afraid I gave him quite a bit of grief already."

"At the council, you mean?" Lilette chuckled. "Yes, word of that reached Niflheim as well—I do commend you, that was quite clever."

Loki canted his head. "Clever?"

"Oh, you know," she said. "Several of the nine realms still look down upon the keeping of the slaves. Such a move would win their favor if you supplanted the Alfather, if and when the time came. And you had the perfect audience to witness your initiative."

"You're clearly versed in the movements of nobility," Loki said. "Apologies for disappointing you—but my initiative was genuine."

"Of course." Her features pinched secretively. "Of _course_ it was genuine."

To her credit, if Lilette was playing a game, she behaved as though she weren't—as though Loki's clear disdain for the turn of the conversation left her unperturbed.

"I make no assumptions, in either direction," she stated vaguely, waving her hand. "Whether you become king of Asgard or some other realm, your wisdom will continue to serve you well."

Some other realm?

_Oh, yes. _Loki noted to himself. _Very well versed, indeed._

"So, how about that match?" she asked again, moving to snake her arm beneath his. "Really, I insist—I assure you, you'll enjoy yourself."

Loki looked between their entangled arm and her casual appearance—did she think that casting a veil of friendship would mask the impropriety? Either way, he found himself being dragged down the opposite end of the hall, toward the sparring stadium.

The day was cool, at least, as they strode out into the arena. "Well, well," Sif laughed as she struck the final blow to one of the young guards. "Look who's come to join us."

Loki peered down the line of soldiers. "What is this?"

"Training," Sif said. "Good to see you, Lilette."

"As usual," Lilette responded. There were no hugs exchanged—nothing but the hard, iron-clad clamping of their hands in friendship. "Thought I'd bring along a little demonstration. What're you teaching them today?"

"A review of defense," Sif said, looking between them. "What demonstration?"

Lilette turned toward Loki, drawing a sword from behind her cloak. "Who better to learn from than the rising king?" She turned back. "Am I wrong?"

Loki's eyes settled on Lilette's profile—her sweeping cheekbones, her silver eyes.

She could have passed for Aila—Aila in another life.

Glancing at the eyes that were now fastened to him, Loki plastered on the smallest grin. "I suppose, if I must…"

Lilette seemed to catch the reluctance, her brows pinching a bit as she looked his way. "I do insist," she said merrily, strolling to the other side of the ring. "Please, draw your weapon!"

Loki took his place on the opposite end, daggers manifesting in his hands, and waited as Lilette made the first move.

One stroke after another, Lilette laughed each time she missed, each time he knocked her over. With all the spirit of a true-born fight, she never stayed down. Not even once. Seconds later, she'd be on her feet again, fighting as though she hadn't been knocked down. In one fell swoop, Loki finally pinned her to the ground.

And…

The way her hair spun, the way she smiled mischievously—

He reared back, daggers disappearing as he glanced around the company, at the confused faces of his onlookers. Even Lilette, propping herself up on the ground, finally seemed a bit perturbed. "Your highness?"

"Forgive me," he muttered, turning and storming out of the ring, his thoughts slowly blurring together.

No one knew Aila's features as he did—who else would care to look upon them as he had? Who would've cared to, that could've make a difference or brought some answers? Wind carried him through the halls as he stalked back to his room, thoughts reeling and spiraling as he considered the faint—the very faint—possibility that his brother may have been right.

A yelp as he entered his chambers. Loki looked up to see Aila at work at the fireplace, eyes widened with surprise as she rose to her feet. "L-Loki?"

His gaze was fastened to her face as he approached, seeing her throat bob as she stumbled back.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

No, he was not alright, he needed to get another look.

Loki's hands flew to either side of her neck, and—the rest of him hadn't meant to follow.

Perhaps it was an ill-timed stroke of follow through with the momentum that had his lips crashing into hers. He certainly hadn't meant for it—hadn't meant for her to drop her brush with another quick yelp. Hadn't meant for her to stumble back against the table. Hadn't meant to sigh against her skin, for all his thoughts to be numbed by the taste of her soft lips, to close his eyes and stumble back with her until she leaned against the table—then down, down, down until he covered her completely, her legs parted as he laid her down against it. For them to snap enticingly around his backside as the kiss devoured them both.

Hours could have gone by, and he wouldn't have noticed until Aila pulled her lips away, taking a sharp breath of air. Loki hovered above her, too dazed to be amused by her lack of stamina—if that's what it was. Perhaps it was his hand speared through her hair, or the way he pressed her tightly against the wooden table. He released her slowly, allowing her to breathe as he garnered the willpower to move one limb at a time—one finger—until he was off.

Taking in the sight of her splayed against the table, Loki groaned quietly and turned away. Even if he tried, he couldn't begin to decipher all that twisted and turned inside him at that moment. Such wild infatuation, so destructive and unpredictable—so dangerous.

"You should leave," he finally managed to breathe out.

Her heaving gasps dissipated briefly as he heard her sit up. "W-What?"

"Leave."

There was silence for a moment, and the sound of her slipping off the table. "N-No," she exclaimed frustratedly, coming around to face him. "You can't just—"

"Contrary to the words I chose, that was not a suggestion," he muttered, his voice tight. "Leave. And do not return until I call upon you."

Aila pressed her lips—her swollen lips—together defiantly.

"That was an order, Aila," Loki growled. "You are dismissed."

He could've sworn she'd meant to argue some more, but something passed over her expression that he couldn't quite place.

"Davos recovered this morning. I can never repay the debt for saving his life," she said, a solemn gleam in her eye as she looked at him. "Thank you, Loki. For everything."

With seemingly great effort, Aila tore her gaze away and headed to the door.

Loki stared at the space where she'd stood, wondering—_had she been crying?_

* * *

**Damn. Cheers to the warm welcome back, I really wasn't expecting that... I feel like I need to get back in the groove of writing this, but I hope this chapter was enjoyable anyway. Thank you. :) **


	16. Chapter 16: By the laws of Yggdrasil

Three days had gone by since Loki had last seen Aila, since she manifested in his chambers. As requested, she'd kept her distance—as was needed. Loki would rather have had her hidden away as he planned the next couple of days, instead of having her traverse the hallways where she might encounter the king of Niflheim once more.

He rounded the corner, into the courtyard where his intended company was spending the afternoon. A gentle harp played in the corner of the yard, servers walking around in billowing white gowns. Glancing around at the gardens surrounding the tables, Loki recalled the last time he'd taken guests here—when Althar had drenched Aila wholly with that soup, and followed up with a repugnant attempt to assault her.

His pulse ticked at the memory, then calmed as he approached one of the tables. All at once, six pairs of eyes snapped up toward him.

"Forgive my tardiness," he said as Frigga, Odin, Thor, Lilette, the King Veris, and some advisor looked his way. Lilette seemed pleased at his arrival, albeit a bit reluctant after their last encounter. "I lost track of the time."

"That's alright," said Frigga as she patted him on the shoulder, looking a bit dismayed—as though he'd just joined an unpleasant conversation. "We were just discussing some…educational reforms in Niflheim."

"Reforms?" Loki said, turning to the king.

King Veris sat back in his chair, gesturing to the man beside him. "My consul, Ragar, has drawn it all up. I've entrusted him to organize relations in the coming future, to bring children to Asgard from our most noble families in reforming magical education."

Loki furrowed a brow, glancing at Frigga as she donned a particularly dour look. "I don't understand," he said. "What do the children of Niflheim have to do with reforming education in Asgard?"

Ragar leaned forward. "It's not about your manner of teaching the craft," he said. "It is merely the opinion of the people of Niflheim that magic should not be reserved to the occupants of the First Realm."

"And it is the opinion of the First Realm that those who study the nuances of magician-ship should do so at their own peril," Odin said calmly. "There is no reason for us to be responsible for the upbringing of young practitioners in another realm."

In the corner of his eye, Thor slid Loki a terse look. Understanding slowly blanketed him as he realized the nature of the conversation he'd just joined—the razor's edge that they were walking upon.

"Do you practice magic, King Veris?" Loki asked.

A muscle ticked in the Veris's jaw. "No, young prince. I do not."

His eyes narrowed. "But you would like to."

"There are many things that I would like," Veris said.

Oh, yes. He surely wanted many things—such as the ability to fortify his courtiers with magic. The war of the realms had been ended with a treaty, and Niflheim was the last to fall into agreement at the behest of the realms. Over time, the study of seidr would not remain among the noble classes alone, and Niflheim was unstable enough as it was without another layer of means to challenge Asgard—a fact that, judging by his expression, Odin was fully aware of.

Loki's eyes swept to the Allfather, sipping wine and popping a grape into his mouth. For a brief moment, he almost felt sorry for the old man—even now, he was toeing the edge of another war with another realm, and he was oh-so practiced at displaying a cold front in the face of peril.

"I wonder," Loki began, looking toward the king. "You must have some understanding of magic to conceive of its usefulness. Have you known someone who practiced?"

"Yes," Veris stated vaguely, taking a sip of his wine. "And I would have my daughter become one such person who is versed in the subject."

He'd known at least one person—_and who might that be?_

"A prospect she favors as well," the king said, turning to his daughter. "Don't you, darling?"

A tiny smile cracked the edge of Lilette's lip. "Power for the sake of power is how the ruling classes keep their subjects in order," she said. "Of course that knowledge would be invaluable."

Frigga cleared her throat, and took another bite of her tart. Should Lilette ever successfully attain this goal, it would be a sour discovery to be told on the very first day of class that magic was an extension of oneself—not a means for gaining a new power that was never granted to her.

_"__Knowledge_ for the sake of power yields the makings of a wise ruler," Odin said, reiterating that rule. "Power for the sake of power is the last resort of a monarch who's lost the respect of his people."

_"__You would know all about that…"_ Thor mumbled under his breath.

All eyes fell on him, but the Allfather merely sipped his wine as though it hadn't happened. Only in the terse way that he set the goblet down was there any indication of the rage simmering beneath his skin.

"I would know all about instilling fear, my son," he said. "And instating consequences upon those who challenge the laws of Yggdrasil."

"Your laws, you mean?" Thor said bitterly, and Loki's brows rose at his brother's bold tactlessness—for once, he appreciated it.

"You know, this wine is delicious," Frigga cut in, smiling at King Veris—whose curious eyes roved back over to her. "You brought it from Niflheim, did you? Your lands must be rich with agriculture to create such a product."

"Yes, contrary to public perception," Veris said. "Niflheim is quite green. We adhere to the highest standards of upkeep."

She smiled. "Your people must be very grateful to you for that."

"We strive to keep the inhabitants of our realm fed and satisfied. The gladder our residents, the more loyalty we foster among them."

Loki bit back a smirk. Those words were a pretty depiction to hide an ugly picture, perhaps coached by his advisor to paint the image of diplomacy. The ruthless savagery—the 'loyalty'—with which the armies of Niflheim fought was precisely what made them so dangerous.

"Do you offer land and subjects to your noble families?" Loki asked as he sipped his wine, stifling a grimace—the wine was putrid.

"Yes," said the King. "Niflheim is very large, and I cannot possibly see to subjects at the furthest reaches of my kingdom. I suppose the mountains of Asgard do not level enough for such an arrangement to take place?"

"No," Loki answered with a pointed chuckle. "Our 'arrangements' are quite different."

"How do you mean?"

"You might say that the serving classes of our palace adhere to their own system of authority," he said with a casual lilt. "The servants answer to the noble classes, and slaves answer to all of the above—though the latter rarely deigns to spare a sentiment in their direction."

Veris pinched his brows, amusement sprawling across his features. "And yet, I've heard that you have done so."

"Yes, I believe you've met my serving woman," Loki said joyously. "She's quite the remarkable character—I expect she deserved to be struck to the ground?"

The light smile faded from Veris's expression, the mood around the table shifting.

"Y-Your words speak of high expectations," Lilette said, cutting in with a hint of desperation. "You don't mean to imply that a creature with no education, no prospects or training in the graces of nobility could merit such praise?"

"She is not a creature," Frigga cut in, the sharpness in her gaze dispelling the softness of her voice. "I find her to be very intelligent and likable, for all that she is—exactly as she is."

"As do I," Thor said pointedly. "Aila is a wonderful person."

"Aila?" the king murmured tautly at the older prince. "Is that her name?"

"It is," he answered. "Quite the gentle name, at that—just as she is."

"Aila is not gentle when she needs to be," Loki said, answering his brother's glance with an appreciative smile. "She bleeds when she is hurt and then smiles so that you don't shed a tear on her behalf."

"Or trouble yourself with an impossible matter that she means to handle alone," Frigga added.

"I did not realize you were all so well acquainted," Odin cut in tersely.

Loki looked up, seeing Ragar's curious expression before looking back at the Allfather. "Perhaps we ought to invite her to our next luncheon, so that you may see these things for yourself."

"Absolutely not," said Odin.

Veris's gaze was fixed upon his plate, Lilette had gone utterly pale. Slowly, the king pushed back from the table. "If you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to."

Loki narrowed his eyes as their entire company rose, Ragar and Lilette scurrying to trail after their king, tossing a quick 'goodbye' to the table before following him across the courtyard.

_"__You three…"_ Odin said as he followed suit, tossing a napkin onto his plate. His voice deeper and more menacing now that they were alone. "Should you _ever_ speak another word to Veris or his subjects, there will be dire consequences."

Loki sat back, tossing one leg over the other. "Now, how am I supposed to marry that princess if I can't speak to her?" he said, and Odin's eye snapped toward him in shock. "What, you think I haven't noticed all the hints she's dropped?"

"Silence," Odin said. "You'll say_ nothing."_

Loki pressed his lips together, wondering how much the Allfather knew—whether he'd decided that the risk of exposing Niflheim's lost princess wasn't worth the risk of losing an alliance. Was he even _aware_ that Lilette had come here with those intentions?

He watched as Odin left, disappearing through the archway he himself had come from. For his part, over the last few days, Loki's suspicions had run high. Now, he was all but certain.

Frigga and Thor met his stare, looking equally disconcerted. Slowly, his expression fell as well.

"It is true, isn't it?" Loki said darkly, looking between them.

They knew what he meant, and Frigga was the first to cast her gaze down to the plate, touching the edge. "I'm afraid there's no room for doubt," she said. "By Lilette's appearance alone, I'd have thought that Aila was sitting at the table." Sadness touched her face. "She has her father's eyes…"

"What do you think will happen to her?" Thor asked, worry lacing his tone. "Where do we go from here?"

"I suspect she will need the three of us before the end," said Frigga. "For whatever dangers the king will send her way, she will need our help."

"And she will have it," said Loki. "To think of all that blood spilled throughout her life—the blood of a princess dressed in rags."

Silence swept over the table as his words sank in.

"But she doesn't know that." Frigga shuddered. "And to think of the violent ends that this may lead to…"

"If we play our cards right, that won't happen."

"How?" She looked at him. "How can you predict that?"

"Come now, mother…" Loki smiled sadly, wishing he had more to say—something sharp to quip. "We'll think of something."

* * *

Cloaking spells were difficult to master, but judging by the two satchels of supplies hidden beneath my bed, I'd managed to master it. Food would be a difficult thing to come by once we were out, but as soon as Davos was well enough to travel, the small amount of dried fruits and meats that I'd collected would last us at least a day outside of Asgard.

Nighttime had fallen, and nearly everyone was back at the catacombs. Davos was already asleep, and Dina and Eros sat nearby. Guilt rang through me each time I looked in their direction from my bed, the small pit of fire flickering against their faces. Months had gone by since their wedding, since I had given a speech at the ceremony—and spoken of trust and friendship and love. Now, I was going to leave them behind for the time being.

In the morning, Davos and I would smuggle ourselves out along the trade route to Vanaheim. Cloaking objects was easy—people were another matter. It was an intense struggle to cover Davos the other night when we had practiced, so we agreed with Dina and Eros that they would wait until the news of two escaped slaves dissipated and follow us after. Wherever we ended up, we would meet at the nearest village of the first transfer point in Vanaheim.

Of course, they didn't know about our magical advantage…and guilt had torn me apart for it. I had no way of knowing what would happen when they tried to leave without it, especially if they chose to bring others along with them. Unless the village was to our liking, we would wait one month before moving on, before losing hope that they would join us anytime soon.

I ran my hands through my hair, propping my knees onto my elbows as I closed my eyes and sighed. Loki's face appeared in my mind once more, just as it always had. Throat constricting, tears rose furiously at the image of him—his back turned toward me, eyes cast in some distant place that I could never reach. The last threads of attachment would be the hardest to cut, through the mass entanglement of thoughts, conversations, kindnesses and fleeting bouts of touch between us. I would leave Asgard, declare myself to Davos if he asked, and never see the prince's face again.

Perhaps someday, I would even forget it. When I was far from Asgard and all its poisons—both literal and figurative—I would be free to bear children and look upon their faces, to see the love and brightness of a future in their eyes. And I would forget, because my heart would be full.

"You look troubled," said a feminine voice. My eyes snapped up to the boots that had appeared before me soundlessly, roving up the ragged clothes until I reached green eyes.

"L—" I stammered, heart racing. _"Lydia?"_

It was Loki—in his slave form. Lydia.

Tall and slender and elegant as ever, she peered down at me. "Only a few days away, and you're already crying?"

"What are you doing here?" I said, standing from my bed as she strode toward me slowly, a deadpan look splayed across her features.

"I told you I would call when it was time," she said. "Don't you remember?"

"Time for what?" my voice rose slightly with agitation.

Her green eyes fell to my lips, then to the company still awake around the nearby fire pit. Dina picked up on the sound of my voice, furrowing a brow.

"Perhaps we could talk about this elsewhere," Lydia murmured. "Alone."

Pain tightened in my chest as I stared up at her, unaffected by the hardness in those eyes. Somewhere in the ruins of my heart, I was happy to see Loki again—even though, in less than a few days' time, he'd would learn of my disappearance from the comforts of his chambers. Perhaps deigning to let the news settle with with some maid or noblewoman.

I looked around at the dark cavern, then back at Lydia. Dread and anxiety had already coiled tightly within me, ready for the whirlwind that this conversation held in store. "Fine,' I said, nodding soundlessly as I brushed past her.

Footsteps fell in tow behind me as I led us out of the cavern, down some crumbling tunnels and into the infirmary—or what was passably written off as one. A mountain creek was our only source of water down here, and the space was built around it strategically to care for our wounded. Several fresh beds and tables were scattered throughout the area, with the barest supplies that I had yet to—minimally—raid.

I closed and locked the wooden door behind us, guilt rising again as I peered down at the pitiful resources my people would be left with. A simple roll of gauze and stilts at every table. No disinfectant. Empty bottles to collect the water trickling nearby, glinting in the light of the sparse torches.

And then there was Lydia, strolling leisurely to the edge of the stream. "Don't they worry about the quality of the water?" she murmured quietly as I approached from behind, her dark silhouette framed by the light of a single torch hanging above the creek. "Doesn't it pass through the city's sewage?"

"No," I said, coming up beside her. A flash of green, and Loki appeared again in his true form, peering at me with no expression, a dark cloak covering his decidedly ordinary apparel. "This water comes from the mountains."

Silence.

"I suppose they have to keep you all alive if you're to be of any use," he said quietly.

I fell silent, swallowing thickly. "Why did you come here?"

"I told you," he said. "I would call on you when it was time to return."

"Why?" I said, my voice rasping a bit. "I don't understand why that time would ever come again."

Loki was silent for a moment, then faced me. "What's there to understand about it?"

"This arrangement can't be easier for you than it is for me." It was a struggle to keep calm, to keep my voice from betraying the pit of despair it rang from. "To see me—like this." I gestured to my surroundings. "You've seen me bleed here, you've watched me starve. You've watched others abuse me. You know you can't stop it, so why? Why do you insist on hurting us both?"

His lips parted slightly. "Does it hurt you to see me?"

The reservoir of sadness within me ruptured just a little at that moment—the moment I opened my mouth to answer. Tears pooled in my eyes, flowing over the edges as I turned away from him, scowling as I stifled a gasp. Wiping my hand clear across my face, I turned back to him. "What do _you_ think?"

His green eyes glinted in the torchlight, roving up and down the length of me. "I wonder—if you could see me with another pair of eyes, would you feel this way?"

I furrowed a brow. "What're you talking about?"

Loki faced me. "If you were not a slave," he said. "And my kindnesses were not held against a backdrop of such cruelty—would you feel the same way about me?" His fingers rose to wipe away my tears mechanically, pausing against my skin without a hint of softness—as though he'd had a second thought—and dropped down to his side as he turned away. "In either case, you're right."

I sighed, loosening some of the tension. "About what?"

"That this isn't easy." His were eyes fastened to the stream, voice dropping low. "I couldn't tell you when it became difficult."

"So stop," I said, voice tight. "Stop before this ends badly—or in death, in my case."

"You will not die," Loki said suddenly, eyes flaring up to me. "If I have any say in the matter, you will never face death in Asgard."

My shoulders dropped. "You know you can't prevent that."

"Maybe I can't—but I've found something that can."

I furrowed a brow. "…what?"

Loki faced me, expression steely with conviction. "I found your father, Aila."

My throat clenched, eyes widening. "W-What?"

"The King of Niflheim," he said, "is your father."

I stared at him, mouth agape. Slowly but surely, my thoughts began reeling through the memory of everything my mother said about my father—how he was a horrible, abusive man, how she ran to save my life and hid in another realm. Though in the end, the war had taken both our lives in ways she'd never expected.

"That horrible man?" I stammered. "It can't be. That—that would mean—"

"It would mean that royal blood is coursing through your veins," he said, canting his head around the infirmary. "That that same blood was spilled within these halls."

My head shook slowly as I looked up at him, trailing down his angular features—his jaw, his neck. In all the realms of Yggdrasil, I couldn't conceive of one where we could be the same. Equals in station. "This can't be true…"

Loki pressed his lips together, brow creasing as he stepped toward me. "I asked you to stay here for your safety," he said, "because I couldn't predict how these next few days would pass. I came here tonight to retrieve you—because yes, I was unafraid of the pain that it would bring you to see me again. To hear all this. Because now, I have means with which to protect you."

Shock rooted me in place, eyes wide as Loki stopped a breath away from me, his hands appearing on my waist.

"I will tell you everything, Aila," he said. "And you will be as certain as I am. You will understand that this place—these clothes—" he pinched my shirt, "depict your station just as well as they do mine. I am a prince of Asgard, and you are a princess of Nilfheim." Fresh tears streamed from my eyes as he studied me, tension pulling at the muscles in Loki's jaw and neck. The tips of our noses barely touched as some unreadable emotion shone in his eyes. "In the eyes of the laws of Yggdrasil,_ you are my equal."_

A steady hand pulled my hair back from my face as I stared at him. My tears slid onto it as it pulled forward to my jaw, the tears cooled by the tendrils of Loki's breath against my skin. "What…does that mean?"

His face seemed taut, uncertain as his brow furrowed slightly. "It means—a lot of things. "

A shudder escaped me as I raised my hands to his shoulders, and Loki pulled back—stopping as I gripped the collar of his cloak lightly. "What does it mean to you?"

He paused, thinking it over. "It means that I have reason to be unafraid."

"Of what?" I whispered.

Those emerald eyes fluttered, then fell to my lips. "Of—" he paused again. "Of the things I want."

"From me?"

"From you."

My hands relaxed, pulling against his collar. Loki leaned in ever so slowly, brows furrowed as his soft lips caressed mine. One hand rose up my back, the other tangling through my hair, and my knees weakened as I leaned against him. One move after another, I speared my fingers through his dark locks while my heart raced.

Loki paused briefly, my eyes opening to see his gaze flicker toward the bed standing just a few feet away. My right foot shuffled back a step in response, his following reluctantly until my knees touched the side of the bed. My hand lowered to his neck, pulling him down with me onto the blanket. The mattress was just as hard as mine was, but it didn't matter at that moment—not as Loki's hands trailed every curve and crevice of my body, his lips caressing mine as he'd truly never allowed them to before.

I tugged at my shirt, Loki paused, pulling back to look at me.

"Take it off," I whispered, his eyes lidding as a hand appearing beneath mine, gripping the shirt.

One by one, each article of clothing slid from both our bodies, my breaths turning ragged as he kissed down my neck. Eyes closed, I tilted my head back against the pillow as his lips dragged over my skin, relishing the touch. I gasped sharply, eyes popping open as his lips suddenly closed over my breast, kissing and sucking as the rest of him shifted between my legs. Loki caught the tip gently between his teeth before returning to my lips, his tongue darting out to brush against mine.

My breath hitched as I felt him position at my entrance. My legs rose along his sides as he gripped my hip, his other hand back in my hair. The tears hadn't even dried completely, and yet, this was finally happening—

Loki groaned as I bit down on his lip gently, trembling beneath him as he slid inside me. Tendrils of pleasure and friction accompanied the fullness of him. I gasped as I released his lip, Loki's expression pinching as he looked down at me, pulling back to thrust again. There was no control, none of that iron-clad composure left in his eyes as he slid in again—and again, and again. After months of waiting and desire, stealing glances and gentle kisses in the shadows.

I broke away from his lips, stealing a breath of air as his thrusts grew harder and faster. My heart pounded wildly inside its cage as I gasped, clutching his neck as I moaned. The hand that had been on my hip swept into the air as, an unstable sheen of seidr coating us—the same that he had used to hide the sight and sound of us in the cavern. With one particularly sharp thrust and rapturous gasp in his ear, the rising spell dropped like a curtain. Something of a deep, frustrated groan vibrated against my neck, that same hand falling back to my my hip.

And I wanted—more.

_"__L-Loki—" _

The thrusts slowed as he rose to look at me through lidded eyes. _"What?" _his voice came breathlessly.

_"__Harder,"_ I squeaked.

His nose crinkled briefly as he rose further onto his knees, letting go with obvious relish. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling the sounds escaping me. Something tight coiled in my abdomen as he pounded hard against me in the greatest, most rapturous pleasure ever to be inflicted on my body.

"I—I'm going t-to—" I gasped as his thrusts grew even _harder_, and I came fast and hard as his hand gripped me bruisingly.

Sweat coated the entirety of my skin as he pounded into me one last time, groaning as he slammed into me to the hilt. The breath rushed out of me as we both collapsed against the bed, and for a time, the sound of the trickling stream was broken only by our labored breathing—my hands snaked around his shoulders, his hot breath warming my skin.

I stared up at the cavernous ceiling, relishing the lingering pleasure as Loki's arm tightened around me, his other hand trailing down my body. "_Aila,"_ he rasped against my neck, then murmured something quietly.

I furrowed a brow. "What?" The word came out in a chuckle.

Loki's arms shuddered as he rose slowly, kissing me again before resting his forehead against mine. "I said…" his voice vibrated, his breath fanning my cheeks, "we were born to be lovers."

* * *

**Thank you all for the continued support. It means all the realms of Yggdrasil. :) See you next time. **


	17. Chapter 17: To Start the Day

Two vows had been made in the palace, and here I stood—breaking one of them.

Loki had promised to find a way to keep me safe, after learning what we'd learned, and I had promised my magic to escort Davos out of Asgard. Yet here I stood the following morning, wrought from a sleepless night, leaning against a column on the upper levels of the palace.

I couldn't face Davos this morning, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I couldn't leave. Not after what Loki had brought to me last night—I needed to know the truth, and I needed to know where it would lead. For my own sake, for my mother's memory, and for whatever good or ill it could lead to from here. I needed to know.

So incredibly selfish—I was the most abhorrent person in the world. And if I stood here long enough, Davos would realize that soon enough. I was his ticket out of the palace after all, he wasn't going anywhere without me.

Hands folded behind my back, the stone column had cooled with the passing of the night, and my fingers were cold as they pressed against it. A dewy sheen of tears coated my eyes as I stared out the tall window, barely blinking as seconds became minutes, and minutes became hours. Perhaps I could take Davos away and then return to Asgard by myself—if that were possible.

Loki would be expecting me soon.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, the hour of our departure passed with emphasis. Dragging my limbs apart from the stance they'd been in for so long, all my body was sore as I trudged back down to the lower levels of the palace. My eyes were dry by the time I reached Loki's floor, empty handed as far as breakfast went, but today I moved where my legs carried me.

Turning the corner, I paused, eyes widening at the figure standing in front of his door. Tall, beautiful, and a bit gaunter than I remembered her. One fist hovered at the wood of the door, but she was not knocking.

_Astrid. _

My brows rose slowly in surprise—I hadn't seen or heard from her in the longest time. And at the sound of my footsteps, her hand faltered from the door and she startled back, eyes fastening to me.

Stress lines creased her forehead. "I—I was just—" Her eyes fluttered to the ground at my feet."I need an audience with your master."

"He's not my master," I said. "I can let him know you're here."

"He…he knows I'm here," Astrid's voice came out with a skittish whisper. "I can hear him on the other side, and…I'm sure he knows."

Glancing at the door, I knew she probably wasn't wrong. Still, my brows pinched with confusion as I stepped toward her. "Why are—"

"S-Stay away!" As I stepped forward, she jumped back, her hand covering her belly. "Don't come any closer!"

My eyes fell to her hand, demonstrably flat against her stomach.

Almost as if she were—protecting something.

"You…" I was the one stammering this time. "You're…" I pointed to her stomach. "You're not—"

She followed my line of sight down to her stomach, then jerked her hand away. "That's none of your concern."

I furrowed a brow, calculating the months that had passed and pairing that number with her arrival at the Prince's door—the last time Loki had been with her, to my knowledge, was before the two of us had officially met. Unless there were some dalliances that I was unaware of. Still, she tarried back as I strode straight toward the door, knocking twice with urgency.

Loki certainly took his sweet time answering. The door opened as he appeared behind it, eyes growing soft and then hard as looked from me to her—then down to her hand, which had found its way back to her stomach, and back to me. For a moment, we merely stared at one other on either side of the threshold, the same range of questions passing through both our thoughts.

"Ah," he murmured toward no one in particular, pushing back the door. "More commotion than I was expecting this morning."

"I…" Astrid's voice crackled with fear, and I could see it in her eyes as I looked back. Whatever she was here for, there had to have been a fountain of conviction inside her to get every word past those lips. "I was hoping to speak to you privately."

"I couldn't possibly care less," he said.

"Loki," I murmured quietly. "You should probably hear whatever she's got to say."

—_and then tell me about it later._

He looked more annoyed than anything. "Very well"—there wasn't a hint of it in his tone—"come in—you too," he added as I turned to leave.

Tears had begun to fill Astrid's eyes, and her entire body shook with each reluctant step she took toward the door. Part of me was glad for the invitation to stay, as it felt meaningful in a way I couldn't quite place, though I was still wrought with discomfort and awkwardness as I found my way to the couch beside the fireplace.

It had gone out during the night. Not that he had needed it, considering the _warmth_ in which he'd spent the entirety of those hours—though the thought brought me no pleasure as I sat on his couch, momentarily wondering how much the same or different he was with her, all that time ago…

Gods, I probably shouldn't have agreed to come inside…

I shifted uncomfortably as Loki sat at one end of the round table in the far corner, and Astrid took the opposite seat. "So," he said, looking all too confident as he threw one leg over the other. "To what do we owe this misery?"

Astrid blinked up at him and then me, thoughts turning over as she considered how to start—whatever this conversation was to be. "I, uh…" she murmured, hands fidgeting as she looked him up and down. "You look well, my Prince."

"Of course I do."

I'm sure I was starting to look antsy.

"Forgive me," she breathed out, her chest heaving slightly with every word. "This is…terribly difficult."

"Out with it, then," he said. "Come now, we don't have all day."

I furrowed a brow at him—if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he was enjoying this. Astrid pressed her lips together and released them, again and again, until the words spilled out of her mouth, "I am with child."

Stifling a shuddered, I leaned back on the couch and covered my mouth with my hand, sighing as the seconds ticked by. Loki, meanwhile, seemed utterly unperturbed. "You've come to tell me this?" he asked.

Astrid nodded. "Yes."

"Well, I don't know why that would concern me," he said, a bit of awkwardness finally turning over in his expression at the words that followed, "I certainly hope you don't presume to claim it's mine."

Something in me relaxed.

"No, of course not," she said. "That…that's not what I've come to you for."

His eyes lidded with annoyance. "Then what is it?"

"I…" Astrid murmured, her eyes brimming and spilling over with tears. "I don't want my child to be cursed."

Loki's brows popped up. "I beg your pardon?"

"My child," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't want her to be cursed."

_Cursed?_ I looked between them, wondering what she was talking about.

A smile pulled on his lip delightfully. "I see." He settled back in his seat, a pensive look coming across his face. "And you assume that because this child is borne of your own body, that the curse might carry on to—_her?"_

Astrid nodded, her eyes closing. "Please…" she whispered. "Please remove it."

"What curse?" I finally interjected.

Loki didn't look at me. "I'll have her explain," he addressed her, and Astrid turned her head shakily in my direction. "Go on, then."

"I…can't cause you harm without suffering the same fate," she said, eyes red and dripping. "On any level."

Flashes of beatings and hooks and cruel words skidded across my thoughts, slipping by with vivid images of pain and blood—all of which she had caused. Those horrible, brutal months when she abused me mercilessly, and even organized my death the day of the haelstrom. Evidently, Loki had stopped it all by cursing her—by preventing her from ever harming me again without suffering in exactly the same way. How very poetic.

"My child doesn't deserve to bear a black mark on her soul before she's even born," Astrid said, looking at Loki. "I beg you, _please_ remove it. I swear upon the gods and the Alfather's wrath, I will never look in your slave's direction again."

"Aila," he corrected her tersely. "You will address her as Aila henceforth, to everyone within the palace."

Confusion flickered amidst the panic, and she nodded. "Y-Yes, very well, but—"

A grin tugged on the corner of Loki's lip as he interrupted, "Couldn't find a lesser mage to unhinge that 'darkness,' could you?" I all but rolled my eyes as I watched him speak—unsure of how to perceive his obvious delight. "Well, I'll have to disappoint you on account of this last resort."

Astrid's eyes widened with horror. "W-What do you mean?"

"I will not make that decision on Aila's behalf." Loki slid his gaze in my direction. "Aila, dear. What would you have me do?"

My heart was a cold, heavy stone in my chest as I considered the injustices I might've endured, if not for Loki's curse. All I knew at that moment was that this type of curse wouldn't have transferred to her child, as it was bound to the life force of the being. She clearly didn't know that, and I didn't care as my eyes narrowed on her, potent rage slowly filling my chest—a warm, familiar ember igniting as I watched her cry.

"Remove the curse."

My voice cut through the cacophony of hopeless tears, shock stifling her sobs. Her bright, red eyes widened as she stared at me. "W-What?" the word blew out with an unsteady breath, as though she didn't quite believe what she'd just heard.

"Remove the curse," I said again to Loki, my voice cold and listless.

He stared at me deadpan for a moment. "You owe her no good will."

"It's not about good will," I said, turning toward her, meeting her incredulous gaze with a sharpened look. "Your child would not carry the curse, and neither will you after today. That's not what I would wish upon her."

"What would you wish for?" Loki asked, but I kept my eyes fastened to Astrid.

"Wisdom," I said. "If she truly understood the pain she caused, she wouldn't have done it."

He snorted. "She knew very well what she was doing, Aila. She simply did not care."

"And that in itself is where she fails," I said. "Knowing and understanding are not the same, that's why she didn't care. I understand, and that's why I want you to remove the curse."

"This is kindness, not wisdom," Loki said.

Looking at him, I realized that he, too, would never fully comprehend the severity of the curse he'd inflicted. "Just do it. Please."

He stared at me a moment, looking a bit uncertain, and then sat back and waved his hand. "Very well."

Nothing happened.

Astrid sat forward. "Is…is it going to hurt?" Her hand cupped her stomach once more. "My child—"

"It's done," he said. "Now, get out."

* * *

Following Astrid's departure, Aila hadn't said a word. She trailed after Loki down one of the halls, stalking in silence, settled in the smoke that rose from the embers of their conversation.

Contrary to how Loki was feeling at the moment. As soon as that woman had walked into his chambers, Loki knew what she had come for—the only thing she could have possibly come for—and it was as good a time as any to reveal to Aila why she hadn't been bothered in so long, though the entirety of the conversation had been slightly more…awkward than he had anticipated.

He stopped, swiveling toward Aila. She'd been in left in silence far too long.

Her eyes popped up in surprise, and she squealed as his hand found her jaw, her legs scrambling back as he pushed her against one of the columns, covering her mouth with his. Loki loosened a sigh against her skin, running his hands up and down her womanly curves, relishing that her lips were as soft and pliant as they were last night, infinitely intoxicating—

"Loki—" her words were muffled, but he felt the gentle push of her hands against his chest.

It took a moment to process, and his lips were damp as he pulled them away, looking down at her. "What?"

Aila sighed, her voice grave and dead of any enthusiasm. "We don't know who we might run into in these halls."

He smirked. "May any one of them try to speak against you in my presence—"

"It's not about you," she said, some secondary sadness veiling her expression. Understanding dawned on him as she looked away. She was worried about that friend of hers.

"There's no need for us to hide," he muttered. "On the contrary, we should move toward finding—"

"Not right now," she said, her voice cracking just a bit. "I can't do this right now."

Loki stared at her, stamping out his own enthusiasm. "Very well," he said, pulling his hands away. "What's next, then?"

Aila's eyes flickered up to him. "Well, there's work to do in your chambers—"

"You're not my servant," he said, voice edged with distaste. "You don't have to do anything for me."

"I also have something else I need to take care of, and then I'll meet you—wherever you are. I'll find you," Aila answered. "I won't go to your chambers if you don't want me to."

"I can hire another—" he paused, and her brows rose slowly. Loki pressed his lips together. "But that might be strange."

"We'll discuss it later." She stepped back from him. "I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

Aila paused, looking back at him. "I need to take care of something."

Loki was neither satisfied with the tone in her voice—the lack of teasing—nor the entire day's turn of events. He watched as she turned and disappeared around the corner without so much as a backward glance. What was this other thing she needed to take care of?

An old, familiar curiosity curled in his chest and prompted him to follow, but he stifled the impulse, stalking down the hallway instead—until the pieces fell together in his mind. She'd been afraid of being caught with him, not by his company, but by hers—by that man.

He looked over his shoulder at the empty hall.

Is that where she was going? To see him?

Several instincts warred within him, snapping the moment he remembered the last time she'd gone to speak to him in private—what they had discussed.

_Leaving Asgard. _

In the end, what one might call his truer nature won out, and Loki followed after Aila, casting a cloaking spell over himself. In all this time, Aila's seidr had developed significantly, and she'd had to learned to cover her magical aura—but not enough to evade him. Cast in the role of Lydia, he traipsed through the halls and followed the trail until it led him to—the merchant's dock at the far end of the palace?

A grim feeling overtook him as comprehension spawned one assumption after the other. Hidden behind a corner, Loki watched as carts and all manner of traded goods came in and out, and it would've been just all too easy to escape among them for a young magician. Aila was skilled enough to cast a spell to cover her appearance, but could she do it to another?

A twinge of awareness drew his attention to the left, sharpening as someone—Aila—approached from out of his sight. Trailing nimbly back into the shadows, Loki watched her pass by with a furrowed brow.

She led him to the catacombs next—a familiar area. This place was especially easy to find cover in, and Loki stood idly behind several large crates as he watched her go—approaching a sullen figure perched upon his bed.

_In the middle of the day? _

Looking around, there were several others that were here—perhaps they took shifts?

Concern and dismay shone in his eyes as the young man looked up at Aila, a distressed and questioning look governing the rest of his movements. Loki watched as he leapt up from the bed toward her, and how she calmed him enough to lead him away from the main area. Slinking like a shadow, Loki followed after them as they made their way down one of the halls.

"Excuse me," a female voice appeared behind him. Loki turned, eyes dropping down a slightly more familiar face—one of Aila's friends. What was her name? Dina? "Where do you think you're going?"

"Ah," Loki said, a feminine lilt resonating from his throat. "I was just—"

"You were just going to go and spy on my friends," she said, propping her hands on her hips. "You think I didn't see the two of you slipping away last night? You and Aila?"

Loki pressed his lips together. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"What happened between you two last night?" Dina demanded, holding a hand up for good measure. "And don't bother telling me it's not my business—it very much is my business when it affects our—" she stifled her next words, shaking her head a bit. "It's my business."

A twinge of guilt cut through the annoyance that pinched his chest, and Loki shoved it down as he donned a mischievous smile. "We made fierce, passionate, exquisite love to one another," he said, each word dripping with emphasis. "Is that what you wanted to hear, or would you like more details?"

Dina blinked as her face turned red, jaw dropping as though she hadn't expected that degree of candidness. "Ah—"

"Of course," he muttered, drawing on his seidr, "I would rather you forget this conversation altogether. And don't ever go prying into Aila's affairs again, when they don't concern you."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Loki backtracked on the guilt he'd shoved away. Even as Dina stepped away from him absently, turning and walking away, it remained with him. Glancing down the hall where she had disappeared with Davos, every instinct in his body shook with a need to _know, _but—

_But you must trust her._

The words floated by, again and again as they circled his thoughts.

_No._

Loki strode straight toward the hall, locating the door behind which Aila's seidr pulsed. Stopping just beside it, he leaned in to hear what they were saying.

"I know you don't understand," he heard Aila's voice.

"Understand?" The man responded. "That doesn't begin to cover how I feel about this."

"Things've changed, Davos, but I promise I won't leave you here to—"

"Why?" he growled. "Just tell me why. Why the secrets? You've known me since we were children."

"And that's why I won't let you die here, I won't let you live your life like this." She paused. "But I need time."

"Time for what?"

"To find answers," she said. "For my mother's sake—if it weren't for her, we wouldn't have the option to do this at all. I _promise_ I will find a way to keep you safe until I'm ready."

"What, are you going to ask _him?_" Davos said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Whatever he feels for you, it doesn't extend to the rest of us. He couldn't care less what happens to us every day in this palace."

"He's the one who tried to liberate us—"

"For _you."_ Another pause. "He did that for _you._"

More silence. "I…" Aila hesitated. "I think he…must love me, at least a little."

Loki's eyes widened, his steady heartbeat rising a little at what he just heard.

"If he does," she muttered with uncertainty. "Then…I don't know. But he's a better man than any of you give him credit for. I would trust him with all our lives if it came to it."

"Our lives are not for you to make decisions with."

"They are when you place this responsibility on my shoulders," she hissed. "And that's alright. I will do what I can for you, all I ask is for is some patience. Just give me a little bit of time."

"Time?" he growled. "Time is the one thing we may never have—and I especially don't have time for this."

Footsteps began toward the door, and Loki moved quickly to avoid them. Cloaking himself with seidr, he followed his racing thoughts as they led him away from the scene—out of the catacombs, and back into the palace.

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry for the absence last week-it was the first time I'd seen my family in a long, looong while. I'm not crazy about how this chapter turned out, but there were a few necessary evils that needed to happen. I hope you guys enjoyed it at least a little! See you next time, and thank you so much for your continued encouragement. It makes me smile each and every time. **


	18. Chapter 18: Schemes and Dreams

**Cheers to Gatsby for inspiring this chapter's vision before the rest of the plot was even born. Writing it has given me enough serotonin to make it through 2020.**

* * *

Was there a punishment for questioning the sanity of Asgardian royals? Or for admonishing their lack of foresight on all the ways their current stratagem—involving me—could go awry?

Loki, Frigga, and Thor—these three would singlehandedly be the end of me. Their schemes alone would be responsible for my untimely demise.

"I think this is brilliant," Thor said. Donning a smile, he glanced between his mother and brother across the room, perching himself beside the unlit fireplace.

Dinner lay unfinished on the table nearby, wine left mostly un-drunk. I could still smell the freshly baked tarts as I fought to keep my pulse steady, partly wondering why these three couldn't see how frivolously they were playing with my life. Honestly—I'd had one night with Prince Loki. One. Was this some convoluted plan to finish me off and move on to the next woman?

None of them seemed to notice the way I stared down at the dress laying on the edge of his bed. The ambient light of dusk pooled through the window towering over the Prince's large desk, though the dress itself was too matte to reflect off any shimmers—hardly a comment on the material, which was obviously finer than any I'd ever touched in my impoverished life.

"Agreed." Loki leaned against the neighboring bed post, arms crossed, and cast a satisfied glance down at the dress. "Mother, you've certainly outdone yourself with this one. They'll never know the difference."

_Outdoing herself?_ I damn near gaped at him. _Is that he calls this?_

Frigga seemed to sense my reluctance, keeping a steady eye on me from where she sat on the couch. "Aila, dear," she said, turning their attention toward me as well. "What do you think?"

Silence settled in the air as I stared down at the gown. My pointed glance was finally noticed as I looked down at the rags I wore—finery as far as slave standards went, but still pitifully downtrodden.

A tangible shift moved through the room when they realized I hadn't agreed with resounding enthusiasm. "She doesn't like it," Thor muttered as he stared, and I wasn't sure whether the underlying tone was that of disappointment or alternating strategy.

I let out a breath, scanning the fine silks and fabrics that draped over the edge of the bed. "It's not that I don't like it…"

Again the room went silent, and the queen leaned forward, brow set with concern. "What's bothering you? Speak freely, Aila. Your opinion on this matters."

I looked at her, pausing for a moment. "I could never pass as Princess Lilette—not even at Solstice Festival."

I'd only ever seen the Solstice Festival from a distance in the past, standing atop the windy balconies of the castle towers. All the palace emptied every year for the occasion, swarms of people crowding the streets, banners and extravagant entertainment brightening the night, firelights exploding among the stars.

And, of course, there was the smell of alcohol that carried with the wind.

"You don't think you can do it?" Thor asked.

"How can I?" I looked at him. "Even if this is the exact dress she ordered for the occasion, Lilette and I still look nothing alike."

A loud, derisive snort came from Loki's side of the room. _"Nothing_ alike?" Loki peered at me, eyes alight with amusement. "Well, you really don't know your own face, do you?"

I shot him a hard glare, sensing that—to one extent or the other—this whole thing bore the thrill of a game to him. A trick. He was enjoying the uncertainty that had been driving me mad.

Especially after the ordeal I'd had in the catacombs with Davos—and the later admonishment from Dina and her husband—I was at the end of my rope with all the uncertainty, the endless conversations and impossible expectations. Everyone around me seemed to have forgotten who—what—I was.

"Until proven otherwise, I am still a _slave,"_ I said. _"_One that the Allfather himself has an apparent disliking for. You think he won't see right through my terror, no matter how well we disguise everything around it?" A pause. "You'll forgive me if this plan has me tearing for the nearest balcony, to put _myself_ out of my misery before Odin gets his hands on the last thread of sanity I've got left."

The room went silent. My hands shook as frustration and exhaustion tore through me. Even I was surprised at my own outburst…

As though he sensed my thoughts, Loki's grin faltered, and he opened his mouth to speak—

"Hush," the queen demanded of him. Eyes flickering in her direction, Loki's jaw worked as he plastered his lips shut at the command.

Frigga paused a moment, giving thought to her next words, and then rose from the couch. Anxiety clenched my stomach as I watched the Allmother stride near me with a steady gaze—the woman was will and determination incarnate. No wonder she was married to the Allfather.

She nodded. "You're right, Aila. And being right in that respect, there is only one aspect of this that I can assure you of, speaking as a mother"—she reached out and took a strand of hair in her hand—"You claim to have been born in Asgard, or so you were told, but I could swear that the two of you were twins in the womb. There are, perhaps, only slight differences between the two of you, due to the wears of time and lifestyle," she said, looking around my face, "but they're nothing that a little touching up won't remedy."

"But…those differences, however slight you say they are, are precisely why I'm worried," I said. "I sincerely doubt that King Veris won't recognize his own daughter. And in any case, didn't Odin forbid you all from speaking to him and his subjects?"

"Oh, of course," Frigga's eyes gleamed as she mused sarcastically. "But my dear sons are now deeply concerned with the fragility they've instilled in our relations with Niflheim. I'm sure they would happily set aside differences to seek an alliance, given the chance from the Allfather—wouldn't you, dears?"

Loki crinkled his nose. "For the good of the kingdom."

"We're fully committed to the wellbeing of Asgard like no other," Thor added a bit more playfully.

"And with you and Lilette both on the board, there'll be plenty of Niflheim royalty for us to entertain," Loki joked, though the earlier amusement had gone from his voice.

"Thor _will_ manage to keep the real Lilette occupied as long as we need him to," Frigga said with the utmost confidence. "Just enough for King Veris to consistently mistake you for his daughter for a time. And when the moment is right, we will coalesce at the head of the festival—you will stand beside one another, pressed and polished to perfection, and the many witnesses in attendance will realize your blood ties. There will be no denying it."

I grimaced a bit. This still seemed like an abhorrently shaky plan. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will," Thor said. "And once you are recognized as a member of a royal bloodline of Yggdrasil, you will be freed of your status as a slave."

"And then what?" I said. "Surely you don't think they'll actually recognize me as a monarch. What happens after that?" I gestured to them. "And what about all of you? What will the Allfather do to you when he realizes what you've done?"

"Don't worry about us." Thor shrugged. "As for you—you can do whatever you want, Aila. You can leave Asgard, if you wish."

I looked at Loki, and his expression was unreadable when he met my eyes. None of this sat right with me. We'd planned to free all the slaves in Asgard—coming down from that, how could I leave all those people? My friends?

"You're right about one thing, though," Thor added, turning to address his mother. "Aila and Lilette have nothing in common in character. That'll be a dead giveaway to the courtiers, and we need to entertain the king long enough for him to truly believe that she's his daughter—there's not much time to teach that."

"I don't need teaching." I threw him a discontented glance. "I can be mean."

Blue eyes flitted back to me, and the Prince smiled amusedly. "Dear, even when you're mad, you're still about the sweetest person to ever set foot in Asgard."

I blinked in surprise.

Across the room, Loki's expression made way for one of bland distaste, his brow arching the slightest bit. Slowly turning his head, he leveled a stare at his brother—noticed a moment later as Thor shifted against the fireplace, clearing his throat.

"And, uh, as Loki said"—he nodded toward him—"there's plenty of you to go around."

The air sizzled where Loki's eyes cut through it. "Is that what I said?"

"Aila." Frigga reached out and took my hand, dispelling my attention from—whatever was going on a few feet away. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. We have plenty of time until the festival."

"It's in three days," I said softly. "What could we accomplish in that time?"

"Enough, if we start tomorrow." Frigga smiled devilishly—the expression strikingly familiar. "Trust us, Aila. We know what we're doing." She glanced between her sons. "This is just another day in court."

I thought back to those words for the remainder of the night, staying in Loki's chamber a bit too long after Frigga and Thor had left. The fire was now lit, and I sat nearby it on the couch, rubbing my brow as Loki went about his nightly routine. Lost in thought, I'd almost forgotten it was probably time for me to leave, until he sauntered out of the bathroom in his robe, hair wet and clinging to his neck.

Meanwhile, all the frustration in the world wrapped around my shoulders like a physical weight, dread impending in every step to be taken back down to the catacombs. It was the surest reminder of my status—and once there, I'd have to face Davos and the others. Again.

It was a nightly horror to be subjected to their disdain—not that I could blame them for it.

Loki's footsteps were silent as he walked across the room, his robe sliding against the floor. In such a thin layer of clothing, his imposing frame was easy to perceive. The wide, toned planes of his chest and shoulders…

He didn't look at me, and I wasn't sure whether it was intentional. "I suppose I should go," I said, standing from the couch.

"What's going on with you?" Loki said—the words sounded more like a statement than a question.

I paused, watching as he finally turned to face me, arms crossed over his bare chest. "What?"

Loki stared flatly, then made a show of seeming confused. "We're making progress in establishing your identity, and we have a viable plan for doing it. You have three court-versed monarchs protecting and guiding you, aiding you in every step of the way—forgive me, but I'm not seeing the reason for your coarse treatment of us."

_Coarse? _Is that how I was being with them?

"I…" I looked away, then cradled my face in my own hands a moment. Spearing my fingers through my hair, I let loose a heavy sigh and let it go—wishing, for a moment, that I could confide in him about my emotional excursions in the catacombs. "I'm not trying to be difficult. I have a lot on my mind, but it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"I'll decide that for myself once you tell me what's going on."

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

That was the wrong thing to say—I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. Loki's eyes lit up in manner I hadn't seen from him in quite some time. "Well, since you put it that way," he mused, striding toward me. "I'm even more sure, now, that I'll be glad to hear the truth."

"No, you won't."

His brows quirked up. "Getting brave, are we?"

My mouth opened and closed again, the implication churning my stomach.

My eyes fell instinctively to the floor as I gathered my composure. "Believe me," I said a bit more softly. "You don't want to know what's on my mind."

"Believe_ me _when I tell you that this curiosity will kill me sooner than your King-father."

"This isn't a joke to me," I murmured. "This is serious."

His eyes hardened. "All the more, then. Out with it."

"I can't."

"Aila—" He stepped toward me.

"I can't tell you, Loki." I advanced back from him. "Do you want me to give you reason never to want to speak to me again? Because that's what will happen if I do"—if I told him that I'd almost left him—"I'm dealing with it myself. This is one thing you cannot help me with, so don't push me."

Loki pressed his lips together, green eyes wide and staring at me. There was a pause of silence as all his thoughts clamped down behind a wall, and then he answered, "You looked well enough like her just now."

I furrowed a brow. "Like who?"

"Lilette," he said—this time, he was the bitter one. "You'll be just fine at the Solstice Festival. Lower that rage to a simmer around the courtiers, and all will go according to plan."

"Great." I made for the door.

"Unfortunately," Loki began again, stopping me in my tracks. "You've entitled me to an answer before you go."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "An answer to what?"

"A variation of the initial question. What is it that you've done, that I would never speak to you again?" The slightest cant of his head. "You haven't come to me once since—that night. I'm starting to wonder if you regret what took place between us."

Sadness pinched my chest at the sentiment, despite the lack of emotion in his voice. "No. I don't regret being intimate with you," I said, turning toward him. His green eyes flitted listlessly in my direction "But I do regret the things that happened as a result of it."

"Such as?"

Oh, my aching head…

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

I sighed, opening and closing my mouth again. In the silence that settled throughout the room, I could heart the crackling of the fire, the sound falling in time with the dancing shadows that each flame cast throughout the room.

"I was…supposed to help some of my friends escape Asgard, the morning after we—" my voice tapered off. "You know. One of them was my closest friend since childhood, and I let him down."

Loki seemed decidedly nonplussed at this newfound information. "Of all the things you have to be concerned about right now, this is what troubles you? And even more, you think this is enough to make me never speak to you again?"

"I was going to go with them," I said, my shoulders dropping. "I was going to leave Asgard. That was integral to our plan."

More silence. And considering what I'd just told him, Loki continued to seem a bit—unsurprised. I furrowed a brow at the reaction. "What are you thinking?"

"That you must think me a fool, to say that I'd be angry with you for this," he said, sauntering toward the dining table, where two glasses and a single bottle of half-drunk wine remained.

My eyes widened, incredulity twisting in my gut. If I didn't know any better, I'd have sworn that he'd had time to _arrive_ at that reaction. There's no way this would have been his initial one.

"Well, now they're all angry with me because I didn't follow through. And I have to face them every night, try to make amends, reassure them that I'll come up with another plan…"

"Plans change," Loki said, taking a sip of the wine. "And you have bigger problems now."

The festival—

"I'm not ready to face a problem like this, Loki," I said. "I can't do it. I don't want to know what would happen if I tried."

"Aila," he murmured, turning toward me. A perfectly serious look was fixed upon his face. "I hear you. But you're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Wrong in thinking you can still walk away," he said. "You've already joined the oldest game in the book. Kingdoms rising and falling with their monarchs, realms quarreling amongst themselves—and King Veris, whether he likes it or not, will never your forget your existence now. You are a small fixture on a very large board, and you can't step off of it anymore. You can only be swept away by larger forces—_if _you do not keep your footing and make yourself a bigger player."

A pause.

"And the consequences of avoidance," Loki went on, "are not something you can be protected from. In that, even my influence is limited—especially if you're far away from Asgard."

"But, if—"

"But if that doesn't frighten you," Loki interjected, a sharpness in his eye. "Then you need to make a decision. Regardless of what this is between us, a half-hearted choice will leave you dead on either route. If you're going to run, then run fast and hard. But if you stay, then gather your resolve and play the game to its fullest—that is the way to win."

I blinked, surprised by his sudden insistence. I wasn't sure what to say to that, so for a moment, I simply stood there and said nothing.

"Go," Loki murmured, setting the glass down. "You say you need to face your friends, reassure them that you still take responsibility for them—do it. Sleep on things. My mother will be waiting for you in the morning, perhaps she can help you decide where to go from here."

"Loki…" I stepped toward him. "You make it sound like everything I've said is to spite you. You realize I'm not still considering leaving Asgard, right?"

"Whether you are or aren't, I'm not relevant to your decision making. That much is clear."

"No, that's not—"

"And I'm also very uninterested in continuing this conversation," he said drily. "Not in the slightest. Go and do what you must."

I remained rooted in place, anger bubbling in my chest. "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Send me away when you get upset," I said. "Every time something happens that frustrates or intimidates you, you order me to leave. Have you ever thought about what would happen if you sent me away, and I went further than you intended?"

He gave me a final, chilling stare. "I'm not 'sending' you anywhere," Loki said. "And you're free to go wherever you please."

Gods, there was no talking to him. "I'm going to go home, then," I said. "Take some time to think about what I just said."

He didn't answer as I strode to the door, letting it slam shut behind me on the way out.

* * *

I always thought of myself as a patient woman, but that well seemed to have run dry.

Following the night of our meeting, I spent the next two days with Frigga, being pressed and lessoned as she initially promised. I had neither seen nor spoken to Loki following our encounter, and I couldn't decide whether I missed him or not—the pang of emotion seemed particularly indiscernible each time I thought of his face.

On the morning of the third day, I reached a new level of incredulity at my circumstances. Sitting before Frigga's vanity, the ornate design of gold and gems lined the frame and desk before me. Her Lady's handmaidens busied themselves with my hair as Frigga paced back and forth behind me, occasionally looking at our progress.

The more I stared at my reflection, the less I recognized myself. When I parted my lips, which now had color on them, the woman in the glass mirrored the movement. With all the serums and oils that had been placed into her freshly trimmed hair, the tresses that the handmaidens braided, clipped and combed were softer than I'd ever seen them.

And once the handmaidens were finished and sent away, it was time to try on that gown.

"My son's been walking around in some kind of a mood these past few days," Frigga said as I tried to clip the back buttons clumsily behind the folded screen. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I rolled my eyes as I thought back to him. "Which one?" I said, feigning obliviousness.

A light chuckle from behind the screen. "I see. I won't pry—whatever you said, I'm sure Loki must have deserved it."

I strained—my arms were not meant to bend this way.

"Are you having trouble back there?" Frigga asked.

"Just a little, but—" _Click._ "I got it."

"Come on out, then."

I'd never worn such fabrics before, my lower legs and chest exposed as I strode out from behind the screen. This dress was made to dance in.

Frigga, who had traded places with me at her vanity, widened her eyes as she turned and looked at me.

"How is it?" I mumbled nervously.

"Exquisite," she said, her smile faltering as I turned in place. "But you know there's one last thing we have to do."

I blinked at first, then remembered what she was referring to.

My scars.

"Oh…" I muttered, then walked over to the mirror. For a brief moment, I didn't quite recognize myself—all the womanly parts of my frame on full display. Grabbing the thin cardigan that was to cover my back and shoulders, I wrapped it around me, hiding them from sight.

Frigga didn't seem pleased. "I'm sorry, dear," she muttered. "They should never have been there in the first place."

"It's nothing we can change now," I said, grinning softly. "Only the future."

The queen slowly drew a smile, standing from her chair and approaching me across the room. "If not for our plan today, I would encourage you not to hide any part of yourself," she said. "Scars are a mark of everything you have endured. Some people experience them emotionally, others bear them physically. But no one in the world goes through this life unmarred. Be proud of everything that you've survived."

It was a kind sentiment, and the meaning behind me kept me steady as we made to leave for the festival. I wasn't sure how all the other logistics had been planned out, what with coordinating our arrival at the festival with Loki, but I was already nervous by the time we reached the streets.

The sun had already begun to set, and the sound of loud music and boisterous laughter rang between the buildings. The festival itself had been situated in the central part of the city, not far from the palace, where paths led through sparse bits of garden and the city's life was at its brightest.

Fountains, balloons, and dancing entertainment littered the streets, the smell of sweets and alcohol wafting through the air. Lights flashed in the distance, crowds forming and parting everywhere we went. I was damn near blinded by the cornucopia of glinting attire and jewelry. All my senses were engaged, sometimes at once.

And the eyes—so many eyes landed on us as we arrived late with the queen's escort.

Sensing my reluctance, Frigga's gentle hand reached down and took my wrist, wrapping my arm underneath hers. "Don't worry, dear," she said. "Trust us. We know what we're doing."

"I don't know if I can do this," I mumbled quietly, feeling my hands begin to shake.

Frigga nodded ahead. "There they are. Just Remember what I told you."

Near the largest fountain in the city, at the heart of the festival, stood our company—part of it, at least. There was Odin and King Veris, but the princes were nowhere in sight. A decorative dome had been situated straight overhead, glimmering decorations streaming down from it—more sparkling streamers and vibrating music thrumming through the air. A group of musicians was playing off to the side, dancing with the crowd, and the Allfather's entourage was alone in its comparable stillness.

I looked at Frigga, and she met my gaze with a steadying look. "Shoulders back," she muttered, and I straightened them. "Chest forward, chin up."

I swallowed thickly, the ball in my throat likely visible. I let out a steady breath.

"Remember everything we've talked about, Aila," Frigga began as we drew near. I stared ahead, collecting her words as she muttered them to me, the music barely drowning out her voice, "There are no falsehoods here. You are a daughter of Yggdrasil—you _are_ what you are pretending to be tonight_."_

I stared ahead, unblinking, but my steps grew lighter as we finally encroached upon them, Odin giving Frigga something of a reluctant smile. "My queen," he extended a hand to her, pulling her to his side. "You're late."

"Queens are never late," she muttered coyly, throwing me a glance. "Besides, I had no trouble finding good company."

The Allfather turned his gaze to me and smiled, then passed over me to the king. I wept internally at the small victory, keeping a steady composure as I looked between them. Meanwhile, King Veris, ever the belligerent brute, was already clearly on the verge of inebriation as he looked at me. "Where did you lose the elder princeling, darling?"

An inner checkmark. Thor was with the real Lilette. I arched my brows at him, hoping my anxiety showed less than I felt it. What would Lilette say? To start, this was her father—she wouldn't have been afraid of him.

"I lost him somewhere further from the alcohol tables than you've been, father," I said in my best expression of good humor.

Veris widened his eyes at first, and for a brief moment—a sliver of a second—panic jolted through me.

And then he laughed.

"He's with his companions, no doubt," Odin cut in, grinning at Frigga. "The Warriors Three—all their disappearances usually happen at once."

"Where is Loki, then, my love?" Frigga squeezed the Allfather's arm, casting me a secret glance.

"Somewhere around here, I saw him moments ago. You know how Loki is," Odin said. "Wouldn't surprise me to find him dropping a snake into the fountain."

A server walked by, elegantly dressed and with a tray of drinks. I reached out and took one immediately, downing the entirety of the golden liquid and setting the glass back down on the tray. When I turned back, Frigga and Odin were watching me dubiously.

I shrugged. "Any man that marries me will marry my liver, as well."

"Ah! My daughter is made of steel," Veris said approvingly.

Feigning amusement, the conversation went on between them as I stood back—hoping I'd done enough to convince them of my identity. Neither Veris nor Odin seemed to suspect a thing. Though as I stood there, basking in the glittering ambiance of the festival and listening keenly to their discussions, part of me couldn't believe that this had actually worked.

Was Loki's presence even necessary at this point—?

Just as I'd begun to question, my eyes fell on a familiar head of black, wavy hair tumbling onto his shoulders. Surrounded by a caravan of noblewomen, Loki strode down from one of the pathways into the festival, a hand behind his back and the other holding a glass of champagne. His chest was partly visible with the party attire he'd selected, his signature green replaced by deep blue fabrics, and—gods, he was handsome.

My brows rose slowly, widening my eyes along the way. Was the rest of this entrance—a _fucking_ joke?

My blood suddenly began to boil, my taut expression noticed only by Frigga. She looked over her shoulder and stiffened, an expression of frustration visibly hardening in her features as she turned back. "By the gods…" she muttered under her breath.

Stepping away from the group of women, I only saw him hold up a hand—stopping them from following him—as Loki turned and sauntered toward our group, handing his glass off to a server. His eyes flitted up and down my length, revealing nothing of the thoughts behind them, and he smiled charmingly as he joined us.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from scowling at his beautiful face, regal features on display for the world to admire. "I see we've all gathered again—mother, you're late as always," Loki said jokingly, clicking his tongue. "When will you learn?"

Frigga arched a brow, smiling between Loki and Odin. "Such a foolish notion. Whomever did you learn it from?"

Loki turned and stared at the side of my head. "Lilette," he purred. I nearly startled as I felt him take my hand. At the feel of his lips on my knuckles, I glanced at him. "You're looking beautiful as ever."

I offered a wry smile and canted my head. "I know."

Loki's brows popped up as he swept his emerald gaze up from my hand, his lips curling back into a humorous smile. "I see I've been missing some lively company tonight. Please forgive my absence."

"You seemed thoroughly entertained," I quipped, boldness spurred on by the approving smirk on Veris's face.

"Forgive me, my lady, if I've offended your delicate sensitives," Loki said, eyes gleaming—it took physical effort to refrain from smacking him—when suddenly, he angled his head in question. "Has anyone shown you around the festival, yet?"

"No—and my sensitives are perfectly intact."

Loki raised an arm. "Allow me, then?"

I looked down at his arm, then up at him.

This…wasn't part of the plan.

By the shadow of reluctance in Frigga's expression, she must not have known what he was planning, either. But—Lilette would have accepted, and something was obviously wrong. So I plastered on a smile and took his arm. "Of course."

Loki grinned, leading me away from the group.

"She'll be losing your younger one, next," I heard the king mutter as we walked away.

Eyes fell on us as we traversed the sparkling pathways, slowing once as a group of musicians cut across the path on their way to another part of town. He was so damnably tall beside me, walking in a confident stride at my side.

As soon as we were far enough not to be noticed, I pulled my arm from Loki's grip and stormed away, unsurprised when his footsteps went after me. "And where are we going, all on our lonesome?"

I beelined straight for the nearest server and took another glass of champagne off the tray, pivoting to shove it into Loki's hand. "Pour this over your face for me."

A look of ill-amusement crossed his features. "Why ever would I do that?"

"Because if I do it for you, I might insult your _delicate sensitivities,"_ I said, then stormed off again—not particularly knowing where I was going. I only knew that Loki was following me, stalking like an imposing shadow. It'd even earned us a few glances out of the corner of my eye.

I turned the corner down a relatively quiet alley—as quiet as it could possibly get—and continued until I was sure that both of us were out of sight. Loki's shadow was indeed quite large compared to mine, and none of our strife was visible in the relaxed way he sauntered toward me. Almost like a chaperone, his footfalls were heavy yet silenced over the grass that managed to grow back here.

If I hadn't reached out and thrust a finger into his shoulder, I wasn't so sure that he would've stopped. "What is the matter with you?" I hissed.

Utterly expressionless, Loki pulled his lips back into a humorless smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

_Oh, for the love of—_

"You don't talk to me for days—_days!—_don't seek me out or make any attempt to send word at all," I hissed, letting all my fury seep to the surface. "And for no real reason that I can put together, save for doing exactly what I predicted when I told you what was on my mind. Then you show up here and—"

"Don't presume to know what's on my mind, Aila," he said. "Not once have you had the smallest inkling. Not once in _days._"

"Well _you _had better clue me in, because I'm just about ready to tear your head off." I glared at him, bowing falsely. "My _Prince. _Consider that a royal request. Or you can turn right back to your courtesans and finish what you started—for once—and _leave me alone!"_

A moment passed when neither of us moved.

Finally, Loki's dour expression made way for a steady chuckle, a beautiful smile slicing across his features. "Oh, I really tap danced on your final nerve, didn't I?" A pang of confusion as he reached out and tucked away a loose strand of hair. "I can see you're upset. But look what we have to show for it! Look how well you've performed—just as we predicted."

I blinked several times, processing his words. "Wait, what?"

That smile of his seemed a little less sarcastic, broadening as he stared down at me in the shadows of the alleyway.

"I said, just look at you…" He leaned into me slowly, eyes darting around my face. "You radiant creature."

Against the cold night air, I felt his breath fall heavily on my mouth, and then my neck as he brushed by me. My lips opened and closed, my heart jumpstarting the instant I felt his lips on my neck, his hands wrapping around my waist.

And then the wall was at my back.

"L-Loki?" My face flushed red as he kissed the length of my neck, confusion wrenching my thoughts. "What—is happening?"

He pulled back, his features only moderately more serious. Even in this lighting, I could see the heaviness in his emerald eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you needed the push," he murmured, voice coarse and heavy. "And just look what you've accomplished—the plan's gone splendidly. Exactly as we anticipated."

Beneath the exterior, I could swear that he felt—happy. Joyous.

_Relieved,_ even.

"Now," he breathed out, eyelids lowering again. "If you don't mind—"

His lips returned to where they were. Only this time, they didn't linger. The sounds they made as they trailed my neck with passionate kisses had arousal rolling through me hotly—battling the confusion that lingered, though lust was well on its way to winning.

"W-Wait—" My lashes fluttered as I rewinded through the past three days. "S-So you were pretending? Our fight—all of it was for show?"

His lips never left me. "Anger is a powerful—intoxicating emotion," he murmured between kisses, switching sides. "Not as intoxicating as others—but—it'll enrage the calm—embolden the timid—and in _you?_" His lips covered mine, his tongue invading my mouth for several moments. "Such _fire."_

"Y—" My questions were muffled, all rational thinking sinking to the back of my mind as my eyes closed slowly. "You—"

_"__I want you,"_ he interjected_, "now—_"

A sharp inhale, and my mind went blank.

Sinking my fingers into his hair, my only response was a resounding kiss, met with hunger and ferocity I wasn't expecting. Loki's hands sunk to the skirt of my dress. Tearing his lips away from mine, I felt the wall at my back, his strong arms hauling me effortlessly against it.

The pieces of fabric draped over my legs as they clamped around his waist, a flicker of rationality returning to my thoughts as I rolled my head to the side, looking down the alley. "W—what if—"

'What if' nothing.

Loki entered me abruptly, a cry wrenching from my throat as pleasure and pain shot out from where we were joined. I turned back to him, gasping, digging my nails into Loki's back with newfound _need_—unlike any I'd ever felt before in my life.

Eyes lidded and heavy, he moaned into my mouth as he moved faster, deeper, until a sheen of sweat covered both our faces—but I didn't care. I wanted none of the gentility and all of the unbridled passion between us, our parted lips always touching as his hips thrust against mine ferociously.

My insides clenched, pleasure wrench through me as I clung to him for dear life, gasping for air as it built up inside of me. Finally I tore my lips from his as ecstasy rolled through me in waves, my fingers clawing at his neck. Loki opened his eyes and held my stare as I fell limp, though none of the tension had eased from his shoulders. He held me like I was weightless.

And with each ensuing thrust, I saw his control slip in those emerald depths—slipping and slipping until he finally cried out, shuddering against me with one final push against the wall.

For several minutes, there was nothing to do or say but stare at one another, both of us gasping from the exertion.

"Can—" I began in between breaths. "Can we—"

"Can we what?"

"—do that again, tonight?"

Loki blinked slowly, his tongue touching the edge of his canine as he looked me up and down, nodding slowly. "Later…" he muttered, then began fixing my hair. I took the liberty of doing the same with his. "When we're finished here."

* * *

**I had to call this chapter at 6.3k words, and didn't even get to the part that I REALLY wanted to write!**

**Quick note-solved my updating problem! ****I used to sit for 11 hours easy with proper ergonomics,**** I finally got sick of this work inconsistency and invested in a desk and proper computer. **

**The computer is arriving in two weeks, and (EDIT) I posted a new Loki story! It'd mean the world if you guys checked it out. It's called "Tyrant," and it's about the world that Loki would have created if he actually succeeded and won the war!**

**If you've left me a review here, I love you and have probably read it at least three times. Thank you. :)**


	19. Chapter 19: Entanglements

For all that other men (and women) once reviled Aila as she walked by, Loki took some pleasure in the looks that were thrown her direction from every which way. Beautiful, unrecognizably proud, and with a prince of Asgard trailing after her. He was sure that everyone either must have wanted to know her, be her, or_—_by the looks on 'some' of their faces—be in bed with her.

He couldn't help but smile smugly, dropping his gaze up and down her form—lingering over her hips—as she strutted in front of him, dress billowing back, knowing that he'd tasted that damnably exquisite privilege just minutes ago.

Aila slowed when they approached the edge of the center plaza, where they'd left the royal company. She let him take her arm, indicating their togetherness, and Frigga arched a brow as she glanced at them over her shoulder—as though she somehow sensed their approach. The Allfather, meanwhile, was nowhere in sight.

"Well," she crooned, displaying an edge of distaste as she glanced at the highly inebriated King Veris, "at least the city's all in one piece."

A pang of animosity shot through Loki upon seeing the salacious look the king drew away from his mother, turning his attention to the pair of them. "All in one piece, daughter?"

Loki bit back a grimace, looking around the courtyard for wherever the Allfather had gone—and left his mother at the mercy of this dullard.

"Not in pieces yet," Aila responded coolly, as though she too noticed the queen's discomfort. "Where has the Allfather gone?"

"He's just gone to get a couple of—" Frigga began, but was interrupted by Odin's sudden reappearance. "Drinks." She smiled, taking a goblet from his hand.

A smidgen of relief loosening in Loki's stomach. Not that Frigga couldn't handle Veris—it was a question of whether the king could handle Loki at the level of rage that began to simmer in Odin's absence.

"You were gone far too long, darling," Frigga murmured with a hint of distaste, taking the drink from Odin.

"It was but a few minutes," he answered, his tone a bit more serious. "There were a few other matters to attend to, I shall fill you in when we are home."

Frigga's brow twinged in confusion, but she visibly let it go quite quickly—especially as another figure joined the company. Consul Ragar, advisor to King Veris, dressed as amicably and festively as everyone else at the event—which raged on around them to the fullest extent.

"I must say," the consul grinned, casting a glance around the festivities. "I'm almost offended to have never been invited to this event before, war or no war." Aila's arm tightened around Loki—she'd never met this man, before, and stiffened when he turned his attention to her. "It's reminiscent of the Irithin Festival back home, isn't it?"

Aila grinned—hiding her stiffness valiantly, "Ours is just a _tiny_ bit better, wouldn't you agree?"

Ragar chortled with laughter. "Oh, I wouldn't quite say that"—he cast another glance around the space—"but it does come in rather close. Just look at this music! It's got hints of that one instrument—oh, what was it again? The one we heard when we traveled to Anaheim?"

"Speaking of music," Loki interjected, sensing the dangerous grounds that this conversation was beginning to tread. He turned to Aila and offered a hand. "I quite like this song—would you do me the honor?"

Relief and trepidation warred in her expression, but the relief won out anyway as she took his arm. As he led her away, Aila's voice fell to a hushed tone. "I don't know if that was the move to make back there," she said, commenting on the brisk, fast-paced beat of the tune. "I don't know this song."

Loki leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the memory of the first time he'd seen her dance—in the throne room, with her conjured phantom partner. "Fortunately, one of us is quite confident in your dancing capabilities."

She blinked up at him. "How can you be? You've never seen me dance."

Loki shrugged. "Haven't I?"

Aila narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Before he could respond, they'd already reached the center of the floor, and Loki snapped an arm around her waist, leaning closer to her than she might've approved of—though by the way her eyes widened and lips parted, she certainly didn't mind the proximity, on a personal level.

"Loki—" she muttered, looking to the left and to the right of them. "People are watching."

"Let them," he breathed against her lips, knowing full well the plethora of eyes that had landed on them. "Let them know you're mine."

Her breath hitched, and then he kissed her. Just for a moment, but enough to taste her soft lips before pulling away—and pulling her off into a whirling dance. She seemed a bit uncertain at first, their staring onlookers no doubt stunned by his own miraculous display of affection, but Aila slowly fell in tune with the beat.

Their hands never stopped touching from there, not a twinge of distrust as he spun her this way and that, and—that _smile._ He had never seen her smile quite like this. Gauging the next turn strategically, Loki tugged her toward him and slated his lips over hers again, quickly and briefly, before letting her go again.

Aila spun, and—stopped.

The entirety of her frame stiffened in seconds.

Before her stood Lilette—the real Lilette—eyes wide and disbelieving as she looked up and down the length of her slave-sister.

* * *

The moment I met her eyes, I realized what everyone had been talking about. Lilette looked so much like me—so much like the woman I'd seen in the mirror just hours ago. Her mouth fell open as we stared at one another, and the passing of time escaped me as the music eventually died down, the entirety of the plaza falling silent around us.

Thor stood just behind her.

"You…" Lilette breathed out, and—

And someone tugged me backward sharply. I fell beside Loki as he stepped up to me, brows quirked with wretched satisfaction. He canted his head and purred, _"'Her' _what?"

Lilette gaped—and then gaped some more.

"What. Is. This." A third, menacing voice stepped up behind us, sending a shiver down my spine.

Odin, Frigga, King Veris, and that other man stood in a line behind us. Frigga broke off from Odin calmly and strode in my direction, coyly situating herself between myself and the Allfather. "Notice something odd, dearest?" she crooned at him.

"What is this _magic?_" Veris slurred—just a bit—as he stepped forward, though he was clearly sober enough to understand what was happening.

Frigga cast him a cold glare. "There is no magic here. Tell me—what do _you_ think is the meaning of this?"

I shrank as I realized the source of the particularly chilling sensation that ran down my spine—the Allfather, his decidedly calm eyes observing me closely.

"Odin," Veris growled, his head snapping in his direction. "Control your wife."

Odin's brow popped up above his good eye as he turned toward Veris. "I will pretend you did not say that," he muttered, turning to Frigga. "Please. Explain this."

"This is _magic!"_ Veris yelped.

"I thought so, too."

Loki flinched as—of all people—I was the one to respond.

Turning toward me, he watched as I slowly removed the cardigan—per the plan—and left all my scars coming out on display, inspiring gasps from all over the audience. Slowly but surely, I pulled up the edges of one of the fabrics draping over me, high enough to carefully wipe away other signs of polishing.

"This is an insult worthy of blood," the king continued with his threats.

My eyes were closed as heard the words, still wiping away the makeup, and I hoped they couldn't see it as my hands trembled slightly. They popped open as I suddenly felt Loki's hand on my waist. Eyes fixed on Veris, he stepped close to me, sliding that same hand entirely around my back. Frigga inched closer to me as well—and behind me, heavy footsteps encroached on my backside.

"Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," Frigga said calmly, then turned before awaiting anyone's response.

Loki and Thor turned as well, and I took the hint in following suit, walking between them as the crowds made way for us to pass. Everything around me seemed to dull, and I barely remembered the trek back to the palace.

The next thing I knew, Odin was atop his throne, and the seven of us drew a curved line at the foot of the dais.

Standing on the other side, Lilette's eyes never left me as her father began, "This is a grave insult, Allfather. Surely, you will not let this pass."

Odin slid his gaze in my direction. "Step forward, girl."

Loki's hand, which had also never left my skin, nudged me forward. Looking at him over my shoulder, the starkest look of confidence glinted in his eyes.

I couldn't match it. Placing one step in front of the other, I strode in front of the Allfather's throne.

"What is your parentage?" Odin spoke evenly.

A pause of hesitation. "My mother was a slave," I finally began, ignoring the disgusted grunt behind me. "I never knew my father."

He arched a brow incredulously. "By the looks of it, you've grown curious."

"My mother taught me to use magic without ever telling me where she learned it from," I said. "When the Prince found out about it, he had me taken in under his employment. From there…"

"From there, I'm afraid we'll have to take responsibility," Frigga's voice appeared behind me as she strode forward a few steps. "We were the ones who suspected it." She looked between Loki and Thor. "And if Aila is, indeed, the daughter of a king—then she is a daughter of Yggdrasil, and cannot be proclaimed a slave in any of these nine realms."

"If that woman sets foot in Niflheim, I'll have her executed," King Veris's voice rumbled. "I have an heir. I need no other."

"Silence," Odin said, raising a hand in the air. The entire room seemed to tremble with his fury, his blue eyes turning in my direction slowly. "Now. Obviously, as king of the nine realms, I cannot allow this matter to proceed without investigation," he muttered the words, but his tone was dull and listless—like he was tired of hearing about this. "If you so dearly desire her status to be revoked, there must be evidence. You all very well could have been the ones to teach her magic."

_Music box—_

"My mother had a music box," I cut in. "It was magic. It was taken off her body the day she died, there are witnesses who can attest to that—and I can show you."

"There are records as well," Frigga said. "I accessed them myself."

Odin stared down at me for a moment. "So be it. Bring forth the music box."

Instead of fetching the music box myself, a guard was sent to bring it back from the catacombs, per my instructions on where to find it. Small and glittering, it sat in the palm of my hand for a moment—the audience behind me waiting for it to be opened.

Silence filled the air as I took a deep breath, staring down at the little golden instrument in my hand.

Seven notes.

One by one, I sang them, and the lid opened on its own—my mother's voice pouring out in the language I never understood.

Odin sat forward, expression growing blanker the longer he listened, the tune echoing throughout the vast hall. "That is—?"

"The language of Niflheim…" The man beside the king muttered, while the king himself turned pale as a sheet. I realized then that Lilette and I both looked so much like him, that without the threat of violence marring his face, we took after him heavily. "And—that voice…"

"Do you recognize it?" Odin asked.

The man glanced at King Veris, who suddenly turned and exited the room.

Followed by Lilette, who seemed startled out of a trance.

"Answer the question," Odin demanded."

"I haven't heard that voice…for decades…" The man seemed lost for words, then looked around us. "Please—e-excuse me."

I turned my attention back on Odin as he walked away, who stared at me with a bit more softness than he had before—more security in processing the information he'd just heard. "Have you anything else to present me, child?"

Something inside me relaxed at the hint of sentiment. I shook my head, letting the music box come to a close.

"You see all the evidence you need, Odin," Frigga said. "She cannot remain a slave."

"No, she cannot."

All the breath left my lungs at that moment, a smile touching my lips as the sound of sighs and a hearty chuckle broke out behind me.

"But that no precludes you from the luxuries of an Asgardian citizen," he added, and the celebratory notions doused.

"What?" Frigga stepped to my side. "What are you talking about?"

"King Veris can ban her from Niflheim, but should he choose to take her to instead, I will not have the authority to stop him—not without disgracing the fundamental contracts of the nine realms and Asgard," Odin said, rising from his seat. "I expect you weren't thinking you would hear that. Go, for now. And plan your next moves wisely—since you're so keen on meddling in affairs you hardly understand."

* * *

The Allfather's warning rang in my head, over and over, and part of me still couldn't quite believe that I was—free.

'A great victory,' Thor had called it when we all retired to Loki's chambers, sharing a bottle of fine wine between us—all of us ignoring the air of reluctance and trepidation that hung over our heads. The anxiety wriggled in through the joy and celebration I felt, strengthening even after they had gone.

"What's going to happen, now?" I asked Loki as I he pulled away from me atop the bed—my lips swollen from what felt like hours of his lips caressing mine, his tall frame against me, held close in an endless embrace. "Is this even a victory, if I'm to go from one imprisonment to another?"

"That won't happen," Loki murmured lowly.

The sullenness in his voice pierced my heart. After all he'd done, after everything we'd been through—he seemed to feel the looming threat as much as I did.

"Loki…" I whispered. "You changed my life."

The firelight cast shadows across his solemn features. "It means nothing if you can't live it the way you want to."

"Nothing?" I muttered. "You honestly believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe."

—and I didn't know what to say. Looking to the left and right, I plastered a tiny grin onto my lips. "Your room is a mess."

I saw the beginnings of a smile in his expression, a tiny bit of light in his eyes. "Good help is hard to find."

"You should let me clean it."

"No," he said firmly. "I've already hired another servant—a male," Loki added the second he saw my reaction starting.

I relaxed, giggling a bit at the idea of one of the servants taking that request—wondering whether they felt the same bone-chilling fear that I did. "Are you going to fall in love with him, too—?"

The smile left my lips the moment I realized what I said, but Loki's expression didn't change. "No," he muttered, hands drawing upwards to wrap around my waist. His breath fell on my lips as he leaned back in, his soft lips grazing mine once more. "I'm not."

I let him kiss me. And then, I let him draw me against him once again, embracing me—soft and caring, nothing like the one we'd shared at the festival. His weight held me down against the impossibly soft bed, arms encircling me in a passionate entanglement of limbs that lasted through the night.

* * *

**I'm such a happy clam. I wrote this at the desk that finally came in (computer's coming tomorrow), and took breaks looking out at the trees outside my window. So awesome. **

**For anyone who missed it (because I edited it later into my AN), I posted a new story called "Tyrant." Loki's apocalypse, essentially, after he wins the war. If you give it a shot, I hope you like it! **

**Fair warning, I'm practicing writing villains, so it's a bit darker than any of the other versions of him I've written (staying true to his character, of course), because I can't imagine him actually being happy and balanced after getting what he wants. For that reason, it's going to be a bit of a slow-burn (like LYE), since there's going to be a lot of evil-ness to unpack and rearrange.**

**As always, thank you so much for reading. ****Yes, YOU, on the other side of this screen-I'm picturing you (vaguely lol) and giving you a big hug! Thank you so much. Stay healthy. **


	20. Chapter 20: The Heart of Yggdrasil

"How do you like it?" Frigga smiled at me, striding into the chamber that was to be mine. Touching a hand to the ornate blanket that covered the bed, she threw second glance toward the fireplace and dresser. "I'm not sure if they've supplied the bathroom yet, we'll check on that before we leave—won't we, ladies?"

Two out of three of Frigga's handmaidens nodded. The third, Analisa, merely smiled at me. I pressed my lips together into a reluctant grin, recalling that the queen had assigned her to stay by my side for the time being.

The unrelenting knot in my chest loosening a bit. "I just can't stop thinking of my friends." I looked toward the bed, specifically, and thought of the cots that they'd all be sleeping on tonight. "It's like a weight in my chest."

"We care for the ones we love, and you love your friends," Frigga said, walking over and clasping my hands in both of hers. "Don't worry. We'll think of something to help them. And we'll do it together."

A tiny ball rose in my throat, and I looked upon the queen's kind expression. "Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank for. These are atrocities that should never have taken place to begin with," Frigga said. "And you're like a daughter to me, I wouldn't have a moment more of it with you. I'd have you join us at the Steps of Yggdrasil tonight, if I could."

I dimmed a little at the reminder. Now that the Solstice had passed and the festival was over, it was time to send off all the guests that had been residing in Asgard. As was customary throughout the history of the nine realms, each time an ever-lasting peace was declared, the celebration of the life of Yggdrasil was held—a ceremony of sorts, blessed by the royal family of Asgard.

In short terms, it was to be my first outing among the noble people of Asgard.

"Don't look so worried," Frigga added, smiling at my sudden demureness. "Loki will be there with you."

"That's not what worries me," I muttered, releasing her hand to stride toward the single sofa situated before the fireplace—unlike Loki's chamber, which had two. Over my shoulder, I saw the queen gesture to the handmaidens, watching as they scurried about through the chamber.

"Loki can't protect me from everything. Even if he could, he's already done so much for me—everything I have now is because of him," I went on, letting her take my hand as we sat. "I don't even know why he found me deserving of any of it."

Frigga grinned and then sat back against the couch, folding her hands over her lap. "Loki was never an easy boy to raise, Aila. As an adult, he can be insufferable at times—even to his mother," she chuckled. "He's perceptive to a fault. But do you know what he isn't?"

"What?"

"Impulsive," she said. "His perceptiveness has also made him careful and resolute. He thinks more than he acts, and that makes him _more_ than capable of making difficult decisions—which is my favorite quality about him."

She went on, "If you knew his life and his mistakes as I do, you'd know that every decision he's ever made has been a terrifying one. Requiring a great amount of determination, even when he couldn't see the fault in his actions. He's the leader of his own story, he always has been." A pause. "I believe you were one such decision, my dear."

My brows rose a bit, and then sank. "Because he chose to involve himself with a slave," I said. "That's what everyone will say. They're already saying it."

Frigga's face fell a bit, but she nodded. "But my son was the first to see the potential in you—he was the first to pursue it. Call it curiosity, but it only had to go so far," she said. "You think the people of Asgard are so blind as to see this for anything but what it is?"

I furrowed a brow. "What do you mean?"

"The young prince of Asgard discovered the lost princess of Niflheim—a lost daughter of Yggdrasil." Frigga donned a devilish smile. "That is the story they are telling, and what they will remember."

It was a kind sentiment, but my heart sank in my chest at the unintended reminder. "What's going to happen if King Veris tries to take me back to Niflheim?"

A grave look came over her. "Nothing you need to think about, because we won't allow it to happen."

"The Allfather said he can't deny the king if he decides that."

"And he can't," she said, looking away. "The blood ties of family have more bearing than words or contracts enacted by Asgard—particularly where those ties concern a royal family of the nine realms."

I considered that a moment, a bit let down that Frigga had nothing else to say—no other reassurances to offer. I rubbed my hands together idly as I watched her stare into the flames, and then asked, "Is the king leaving Asgard tonight, with the others?"

"No." Frigga shook her head, shooting me a look.

I pressed my lips together. "So, he has reason to stay," I muttered.

The same graveness overtook her features. Glancing over her shoulder, Frigga returned her gaze to me with a steadying look. "My dear, we will not rely on Loki to come up with the solutions himself—we are all none too keen to give you up," she said, pulling a weak smile to her face. "But we will discuss it more later—for now, we both must prepare for the ceremony tonight."

Looking in the direction that Frigga had glanced, I realized the maids had drawn me a bath.

Discomfort wormed its way through my limbs. "Are you sure I should be there, tonight?"

Frigga's eyes gleamed as she looked at me. "For Loki's sake, you ought to be there."

The queen left me in my new chambers long enough with Analisa to prepare for the ceremony. The girl was quiet for most of the hours that passed, though perhaps she was trying to be considerate of my apparent nerves. I'd felt uncomfortable enough being pressed and pampered in preparation for the Solstice festival, this was an entirely different scenario. I'd be parading tonight as nothing and no one except myself.

By nightfall, the sky was filled with stars outside the palace windows. Sconces cast dim lights throughout the halls, and Analisa strode just beside me as I navigated through them. All the rooms seemed to be emptying slowly as the occupants coalesced to the docks. The guests themselves would begin leaving in the morning, as the ceremony was merely a symbolic gesture, but everyone seemed in a good mood—despite the festivities being over.

Everyone except me.

Wind billowed my hair as I sifted through the crowd, wrapping my cloak closely around my shoulders. It was cold outside and I was anxious, the two sensations creating a feedback loop that had me trembling.

I inhaled deeply, letting the breath cascade out of me—a bit more shakily than I'd intended.

"Are you alright, Miss Aila?" Analisa suddenly chirped.

My head snapped back at her, and only then did I realize just how tense my neck had gotten. I offered a reluctant grin. "Just Aila," I said. "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you."

With a curt smile and a nod, Analisa slowed her pace once more, disappearing behind me.

Turning my attention back to the path, the beauty of Asgard was only momentarily distracting—the architecture had always been breathtaking, and the bits of metal that adorned the smooth buildings gave them all an iridescent sparkle. The people were undoubtedly just as beautiful—in my view, the citizens of Asgard had never had any distinction between the upper and lower classes. All the people were elegant, all finely clothed and with eloquent manners. Here and now, they strode with confidence and carefree demeanors that I wished for a taste of.

A crowd that had gathered around the Stairs of Yggdrasil—which were a literal span of stairs, leading up to an opulent platform that overlooked the water. A small clearing had been made down the center of the crowd, the entire pathway lined with guards. Analisa and I carefully wound through the crowd until we were at the very front, and I had a full view of the grandeur of the sky. Thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled overhead.

_"__Beautiful…"_ I heard her murmur. But when I looked over, she was looking at the platform—which, in her defense, was truly a splendorous sight. The gold had been as finely carved as Odin's throne, and it almost seemed a shame for anyone to walk on top of it.

"Yes, it is," I agreed, startling her a bit. Her eyes shooting toward me, Analisa gave me a demure smile, then lowered her eyes to the ground.

Some deeply rooted instinct reared its head within me, stoked by a fire that had never been put out. "Please don't do that."

Her gaze shot up to me, eyes hooded nervously. "Do what?"

"Don't lower your eyes to me like that," I answered softly, sensing her anxiety. "Ever—please."

I'd thought the rule had only applied to slaves—yet still, I recognized the feeling I saw in her eyes. I could never imagine eliciting such a response from another person, and it pained me to consider ever being responsible for such a thing.

A bit confused at first, Analisa nodded slowly, the corners of her mouth turning upward. "Of course. My apologies."

"Nothing to apologize f—"

"Aila?" Another feminine voice interjected from behind me, the stark familiarity sending shivers down my spine mid-sentence. Analisa's stare turned confused for a moment as she watched me slowly turn, seeing a familiar pair of eyes staring back at me from the left.

_Lilette. _

My lips parted, anxiety skyrocketing as I stood rooted in place. A bit wan and deadpan, she stared at me from the depths of her hood. "It is Aila, isn't it?" she asked, though I doubted she didn't know that already.

I watched as she lowered the covering off her head, looking rather downtrodden—not half as thrilled as I was to be there, and that was saying something.

I nodded, and the look of discomfort grew in her features. If I didn't know any better, I might have said that the look that crossed her face was almost—hurt.

"You…you don't have to be like that around me," she said after a moment.

I swallowed thickly. "Like what?"

"Afraid," she said softly.

My brows rose. Analisa must have felt my trepidation, and she stepped close enough to be right at my shoulder—her presence steadying me as I stared at the princess.

"I'm not afraid," I insisted breathlessly, trying to force myself to look away or say something else. Yet I could do nothing but stand and stare, pinned by the weight of Lilette's nervous appraisal.

"I swear, I don't mean you any harm," she said, glancing pointedly toward Analisa. "Please believe me."

My heart raced, but I forcibly tore my eyes away from her, back to the platform. That was all I could muster to say or do, until the realization struck me that she might not be alone—she was here for the same reason we all were. A pointed glance in her direction, and I checked the surroundings for King Veris, loosening a breath at his absence. At the same time, I found Lilette's eyes still watching me closely.

I looked away.

"I think you're very brave," she said quietly, leaning forward in the corner of my vision. Again, I swallowed thickly, merely throwing a glance in her direction. "Some of the council members are staying in Asgard—my father among them. I'll be staying as well, and…I was hoping I could come and talk to you."

My brows pinched together, and I threw her a reluctant look. "Talk to _me?"_

Lilette pressed her lips together. "I know what you're doing, and I'd like to help you."

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"You want the crown," she said. "I can help you get it."

My brows popped up, incredulity coating my features as I shook my head. "I don't want _your_ crown, Lilette. I'm not fit to be a queen of Niflheim."

"You can be, and I can help you."

"Why?" I muttered, my voice growing heavier with suspicion. "Why would you want that for me?"

"I have my reasons," she said, a strange look crossing her features. "Maybe I don't want it for myself."

_Anger will enrage the calm, embolden the timid… _Loki's voice echoed in the recesses of my thoughts. I straightened up a little, letting it fill me. "Then why wish it on me?"

"Well, it's not a burden that I'm trying to hand off." She shook her head. "But now isn't the time to discuss it. You're our father's daughter, as free to make this decision as I am—but there are some things you ought to know. What he's planning before you get the chance to decide—because he knows you will." Lilette shifted uncomfortably, while I wondered what she meant by any of this. "I've heard him talking about it."

Distrust ran like blood in my veins as I stared at her, wondering what she could possibly mean. None of this was making any sense. "If we can't discuss this now, why are you here?"

"Because now is the only time that you haven't been surrounded by the queen, or one of the princes." So, only in the lack of their presence did she feel comfortable trying to manipulate me? I parted my lips to speak, but she interrupted again, "Please—I only ask that you hear what I have to say."

I stared at her a moment more, then rolled my eyes back to the platform. "Fine. You can visit me tomorrow."

Obviously, the others would be hearing all about this. There wasn't a chance I'd trust Lilette's word over the counsel of the queen, of Loki, and even Thor. I made my decisions with them.

Relief seemed to flutter through her, her entire stance relaxing a bit beside me. "Thank you," Lilette said, turning toward the platform—evidently planning on remaining where she was. "I, uh…think the procession has already started, closer to the palace."

Through the voices bustling and discussing miscellaneous matters around us, I offered her a slinking look, wondering if she was trying to make small talk with me. "It's late, so you're probably right."

A pause of silence. "Are you excited to see your prince?" Lilette muttered, though there was no sign of disdain in her voice.

"He's not 'my' anything," the words flew out of my mouth—noting she hadn't specified which one—and my chest sank a bit in the process.

Another pause. "He should be, for all that he's done." Her voice fell to a whisper. "The magnitude couldn't be understated…"

I furrowed a brow. "What are you talking about?"

There was the slightest hint of melancholy when she turned her head slightly in my direction. "Love is a funny thing,_ sister._ We all express it in different ways, some in lackluster quality," she said. I wasn't sure how I felt about her addressing me as a sibling, but I said nothing as her saddened eyes flickered up to meet mine. "You're lucky. Your prince does nothing but elevate you—it's the highest quality of love."

Though the pavilion was far from quiet, there was a moment of silence between us.

Cheers and claps broke out demonstrably, and Lilette offered me a demure grin before she looked in the direction of the noise. Slowly but surely, I tore my attention away from her, my chest both lightened with her words, and heavy by the implication of the way she delivered them.

Somewhere up the path, the royal procession had to have been arriving—judging by the clamor—and I searched the crowd of silhouetted figures until a familiar one stood out. Several, at that.

Striding up the center of the path, Loki and Thor walked on either side of the Allfather and Allmother. The crowd cheered, and there was music coming from somewhere among the buildings, though I couldn't quite place the source. Gentle and formidable at the same time, the tune bore a haunting strength that mimicked the power of the royal family—glowing in the wisdom and strength that blessed them all respectively.

_To an extent,_ I muttered inwardly as I looked at Odin.

They walked in perfect succession, forming a line as they climbed the steps of the platform. The unrelenting wind continued to whip at all of us, carrying the edges of Loki's uniform—which otherwise worshipped his lean frame.

Warmth filled my heart at the sight of him at the far end of the platform, as far from me as he could have possibly been. And for a moment, I forgot all about Lilette and everyone else, watching as they strode to the end of the platform and stood before the railings. Turning one by one, Loki's eyes scanned the crowd, stopping when he found mine.

Unease suddenly sparked in my chest.

There was something of a blank look donning his features, not at all what I'd become accustomed to. Not a hint of a smile as he peered down at me, fiery sconces casting light against his features. He didn't blink once as the crowds cheered.

I raised my hands to clap with them, appreciating the splendor of the royal family—trying to ignore the anxiety that ran a clawed finger down the inside of my chest.

_Why was he looking at me like that?_

When the procession calmed, Loki's face remained unchanged as he turned back toward the railing, following Odin's example. The family raised their chins up to the sky at once, gazing up in the direction that Odin lifted his staff. Tendrils of fluttering magic engulfed the tip of the staff, glowing in an assortment of colors—not unlike the bifrost—before a similar spark of color erupted in the sky, turning and undulating over itself. Odin lowered the staff to the ground, sending a loud thud that echoed between the buildings, the magic and color coursing down to the water in a glittering display of light.

At first, it was nothing but a nebulous cloud of magic that had no form. Seconds after it reached the water in the distance, I began to realize the gargantuan shape that it was beginning to take—the tree of Yggdrasil, massive and radiant, expanding like a glittering, monumental fixture against the starstruck sky.

I might've expected the crowd to cheer, but everyone seemed just as awed by the sparkling display as I was, and several impressed sighs sounded throughout the area.

The sconces seemed to dim throughout the city, allowing the magic to cast its light upon us in an ambient glow. Everyone stood still as the Allfather's voice rumbled through the air, speaking in the ancient language of the gods,

_On this day, the nine realms are as one. On this night, we honor those who offered their lives. On this hour, we celebrate the future. _

I looked down at Loki, his form silhouetted by the splendid glow of Yggdrasil. From where I stood, I could only see the edges of his profile—his regal features lit up as he stared into the sky.

At the end of the Allfather's chant, the entirety of the tree shuddered with several thrums of magic that ran from its roots to the ends of the branches—which grew and extended over our heads. The luminescent streaks sent light down to the city, shaming even the brightest stars that glimmered beyond them in the sky.

Whatever fears I'd been carrying were stunted in that moment, numbed by awe. And considering the number of people that had gathered in the docks, the silence that settled between us was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Almost unifying.

In all the years I'd lived on Asgard, all the traditions I'd witnessed and even heard about—this was undoubtedly the most beautiful.

A sudden movement caught my attention from below, Loki's shadow turning as he turned and looked back in my direction.

In the faint ambiance of the magic, I could barely make out his eyes reaching across the space to meet mine, as steady and emotionless as they were before.

I wasn't sure how to return the gaze, so I held it instead, letting the cold air carry between us as we looked upon one another.

Frigga, who had been standing just beside him, turned and regarded her son. Throwing me a glance over her shoulder, I barely caught the smile on her lips as she turned back to him. Loki's eyes fluttered toward hers, like he was seeking comfort, and some indiscernible exchange took place as she gave him a subtle nod.

Loki's first step was slow, his expression taut as he stepped away from the railing. The second was a bit more confident, and all the crowd turned in the Prince's direction as he slowly strode to the center of the platform.

Behind him, the Queen lightly tapped the Allfather on the shoulder. There was a moment's worth of reluctance before Odin turned, his eyes falling on me without a second's hesitation, and then his eyes softened as he, too, turned toward his son. Thor followed suit shortly after, all the family now facing the people, the Yggdrasil tree continuing to glow behind them.

Loki slowed at the center of the platform, almost facing me, and turned halfway to the water as he raised a hand to the sky. From where I stood, I could sense the familiar rush of seidr rising in his body, his eyes fixed upward. Fingers stretched up to the streams of magic that pulsed overhead, the entire crowd—myself included—watching as a thread of magic streamed down from one of the branches, coalescing around the Prince's fingers.

"What's happening?" I whispered to Analisa. "Is this part of the procession?"

"No…" she muttered, looking equally confused as she watched the Prince work. "I don't know what this is…"

_What was he doing?_

Frigga seemed unperturbed by the display, as did the Allfather. Even as the hum of magic began to fill the air, the tang of it buzzed against my skin like an electrical current. When I glanced at Thor, even he wore the most serious expression I'd ever seen upon the man, staring at his brother as the magic twisted and turned in Loki's hand.

His fingers, which had been relaxed at first, began to tense as the last of the magic dripped into his hand. Glowing like a star at the center of his palm, Loki's expression hardened as he kept a focused stare on the throbbing magic.

My blood froze in my veins when that icy look slowly turned in my direction, softening by infinitesimal degrees.

Murmurs had already begun around me, but they were all drowned out as I stared back at him, taken by fear and anxiety and worry. I couldn't tell the difference between them anymore.

Balancing in his right hand, Loki kept the magic steady as his left hand slowly rose in my direction.

My eyes widened, several others turning to see what had caught the Prince's attention.

One look at the eyes set upon me and I shook my head briskly at him, wanting to shrink and disappear into the crowd.

Instead of relenting, his fingers opening slightly to me—an indicator.

_Come to me._

I turned to Analisa—as though she could have been a source of comfort or guidance—but I shouldn't have been surprised to see the dumbfounded expression she wore as she looked at me.

_What in the nine realms was happening!?_

Everyone was watching, now. Waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to see if I would join him.

My throat constricted, beads of sweat building along my forehead, even amidst the coldness in the air. My mouth opened and closed several times, and I gawked for a moment more before finally mustering the strength to force one foot in front of the other.

And then another.

And another.

Until finally, I took my first step onto the Steps of Yggdrasil, walking toward Loki with a thousand eyes on me, staring from the darkness of the city around us.

Slowly, I raised my trembling hand to his, slating it against his skin—which was warm. The heat of the magic was blaring in his other hand, and among the tresses of my awareness of the situation, I wondered how Loki managed to hold it without being burned.

"Do you know the history of the tree of Yggdrasil?" he spoke softly, his voice reverberating smoothly through the air—deep and smooth, like silk against my nerves.

I looked at Loki, seeing the gentility in his eyes that matched his tone, like we were the only ones there.

"The ash tree," he went on, drawing my hand to his chest, speaking as though he and I were the only ones there. "Yggdrasil supports the birth, growth, death, and rebirth of all life—of which, no other souls in all the nine realms know more of than you and I."

My throat constricted as my fingers budged against his uniform, and I could barely hear the pounding of his heart inside its cage.

It was pounding just as hard as mine.

"Aila," he muttered again, my name like honey on his lips. "Asgard is home to the gods of Yggdrasil."

Nothing I didn't already know—but my eyes were fixed on his now, and I was listening intently. There was no hesitation in Loki's expression, no hint that he sensed the enormity of the eyes that were watching us from the shadows. The blankness in his face blotted my own, and it was then that I realized the seidr passing through his skin onto mine—the most intimate form of touch between magicians. It was comforting, caressing me—chasing away the fears that gripped me tight.

"Don't be afraid," he suddenly whispered, the magic dulled out so that only I could hear.

"What…" I began, testing the sound—ensuring only he could hear my quiet voice. "What's happening?"

He grinned ever so slightly as he peered down at me, some memory dancing across his eyes. A moment passed when he said nothing, and then he spoke. "Something to honor us both," he said. "What we thought we'd never share."

My brows furrowed as I looked up at him, slowly shaking my head. "What are you talking about?"

Loki's hand slowly left mine, inching toward my face. The light of the magic cast shadows across us both, his hand brushing back tresses of hair that loosened with the breeze. "You never did declare yourself to anyone, did you?"

My brows pinched. "What?"

His eyes never left me. Not for one moment as Loki slowly descended in front of me, down onto one knee. There might have been gasps along the crowd, but everything around the sight of him was nothing but dull noise. My heart pounded, emotions swirling inside me as comprehension began to dawn.

His gaze turned to the magic in his hand, brow set furiously as it undulated one last time, settling in the crystalline form of a ring. Loki's fingers barely flexed as plucked it gently from the air, holding it before me.

The light, which had been swirling around us and above our heads, was now untouched by the breeze that mercifully kept me from toppling over with heat. The magic was now traveling through the ring in elegant, glowing whorls of color.

"Forged from the heart of the life-tree…" Loki muttered, then looked up at me. My mouth was agape as he held the ring between his fingers. "This light will never go out."

My eyes flickered toward Frigga briefly—toward her gentle smile—as I remembered her words from earlier that day.

_The young prince of Asgard discovered the lost princess of Niflheim—a lost daughter of Yggdrasil, _she'd said.

—_and then, he gifted her a ring, forged from the heart of the life-tree. _

Loki's voice closed the story inside my mind, and all my thoughts drew blank.

_"__Aila?" _his real voice beckoned me back, and I blinked several times—like coming out of a stupor.

For a moment, I peered down at his expectant face.

He was waiting for an answer.

Slowly, I drew my eyes toward the ring he held between his fingers—the one forged from magic. The very thing that had brought us together. His hand was hot as I enclosed it with mine gently, barely brushing against his skin. I half expected it to disappear, for none of this to be real—but as I raised my hand to the top of his, the jewel still blazed with the heat of the magic he'd used to create it.

It slipped perfectly around my finger.

Not a word was spoken between us, but a dull roar of celebration broke out all around—one that neither of us had seemed to take much notice of. I hadn't quite shaken the shock of it all as Loki rose to his feet, emerald eyes fixed on mine. There was no hint in his expression that suggested he was paying our onlookers any attention, both his hands drawing to either side of my neck. A gentle tug had me drawing toward him, and his breath on my mouth was the last thing I felt before his lips slated over mine. Soft, warm.

Again, and again.

Just the two of us—just as it always had been.

* * *

**Jesus Christ, I think I'm getting too cheesy for my own good. I'm sorry lol. **

**On a serious note, though... I was driving around some cliffside areas late last night envisioning this scene (part of my brainstorming process), and I just...I had a moment where I got super emotional. Throughout that drive, I was remembering your guys' enthusiasm for the story, and it just made me so emotional. There was a point where I thought this book wouldn't be finished, but you guys revived it. I'm humbled by your support and endlessly grateful, it was the reason I was able to go out and have an amazing escapist night last night, lost in my fantasies, that I might not have had if I hadn't continued writing this. I don't know how to describe the feeling, so just...thank you. Really, really, thank you. **

**Anywho, I'm super tired... It's 1 AM. I'm sorry, I'm way too cheesy. I'm just going to go to sleep now. I'll see you all next time, have an amazing day tomorrow**!


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